


Kihyun's Not So Fergalicious Halloween Adventures

by Blanquette



Category: Monsta X (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Apologies, Bullying, Dialogue Heavy, Dogs, Domestic, Enemies to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Family, First Crush, Friendship, Halloween, Humor, M/M, Past, Pumpkins, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Unrequited Crush, Weddings, countryside, farming, side pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanquette/pseuds/Blanquette
Summary: Kihyun's perfectly happy harvesting pumpkins. He has a donkey, and a dog, and a bunch of useless farmhands but they are friends so what can you do. Point is, his life is doing amazing. That is, until the guy he used to have a crush on back in high-school shows up in town for some reason. The one that had stood aside and done nothing when his life was turned into hell. The one he was supposed to have forgotten, buried deep with all that happened back then.Plus his pumpkins get root rot and really, that's just too much to deal with.
Relationships: Min Yoongi | Suga/Yoo Kihyun
Comments: 22
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I sort of hit a wall with my writing a few days ago and decided to write something without caring how it came out, no pressure whatsoever, and basically this happened.  
> It was very restful to write for me, and even it is quite stupid and terribly messy at times I decided to publish it anyway because it was fun to do. I hope you'll find it fun too, not sure what the updating schedule will be but I already know how it ends so there's that lol

_(_ _K_ _ihyun sits by the open window of his empty classroom with his arms on the sill and his cheek on his arm, watching the sky blaze too blue,_ _heat bearing down upon the dusty playing field. There are boys there,_ _five_ _of them, yelling and pulling at each other over a soccer ball, tanned faces and tanned arms and sweat glinting on their foreheads. Kihyun stares_ _and Kihyun wonders if he could ever be one of them, careless smiles and easy touches that don’t mean anything._

 _There is a boy there_ _Kihyun’s_ _gaze follows, and his smile is a little nicer than the other’s, his laugh a little louder, his face a little brighter. Kihyun knows him and Kihyun should hate him._ _Hate_ _t_ _he way nothing seems to reach him, the way he_ _always_ _sneers at him, the way he wears his tie crooked and_ _the nonchalance of his demeanour._ _And he does, somehow, a burning hate flaring each time they lock_ _eyes_ _._

_But this is the day Kihyun has decided to stop lying to himself. It’s too late, he knows, much too late. And so he stares, his arms on the sill and his cheek on his arm, he stares and he listens and the thoughts in his head rip a hole in his heart._

_Yoo Kihyun is in love with Min Yoongi._

_It’s not so accurate, though. Being in something with someone seems to imply some sort of reciprocity, some sort of action. Kihyun’s love is not that kind of love. He keeps it hidden, barred from light and water,_ _waiting for it to_ _withers. It sits like a stone under_ _his_ _tiresome_ _heart_ _and he feels it bruising against his ribs._

_It’s the last day of school, and Yoo Kihyun is in love with Min Yoongi._ _)_

  
  


**1.**

It’s a bit strange to be back here after all these years, Yoongi thinks. Nothing has really changed, as is often the way with small rural towns. It feels like the shops he passes on the main street are exactly the same he has already passed a thousand time on his way to school; the same faded store-fronts, the same peeling paint, the same ajummas loudly recounting the same anecdotes to each other. He had thought he’d hate it. He’d braced himself in the train on his way here, braced himself for the dust and the rain and the depressive look of the town, crushed flat under the grey autumn sky. Yet it wasn’t so bad, not as bad as he’d make it, at least. The weather was actually quite nice, the air crisp, not a trace of rain and crunchy leaves on the pavement he stepped on with a bit too much glee. The quiet was nice, too. He had forgotten about that, how quiet everything is here, compared to the city.

“Alli! Fuck,” a loud voice resounds from behind him, sending Yoongi’s heart crashing against his ribs and shattering his dreams of rural silence.

“Catch him! Catch the dog!” the man keeps yelling, and before Yoongi can do anything he’s overcome by white fluffiness and a dog bounds past him, closely followed by a blond man huffing and puffing. Somehow the only thing Yoongi notices is how his overalls have ducks patches sewn on their front pocket.

“Thanks for fucking nothing, dude!” the man throws at him without even slowing, running down the street after his dog. Yoongi stops, mouth agape, and he should probably yell something back but nothing comes to mind. People usually don’t address him this way. People usually don’t address anyone this way. Yoongi stares after the man and the dog, kind of pettily hoping he won’t manage to catch him but all his, admittedly crass, expectations are crushed when the dog bounds straight into the arms of a dark-haired man standing next to a parked pick-up truck. Yoongi hears a laughs, and that laugh wakes something in him, something he cannot quite pinpoint.

He walks closer, stopping under the porch of a cellphone store (and that one was definitely not there back then), watching the man crouch to pet the dog as the chaser is bent over next to him, trying to catch his breath.

“Did you miss me?” the man is asking, and that’s it, Yoongi thinks, he knows him from somewhere.

“He fucking smelled you all the way back up the street I thought I’d die running after him.”

“You’re the least fit farmhand I know,” a third man, leaning out of the pick-up’s window, says to him.

“Next time there’s any chasing to do you’re doing it, let’s see how well you fare, dickhead,” the chaser answers sourly and the man laughs, not offended for a bit. But Yoongi is still staring at the one crouching next to the dog, trying to place him. He has to erase the knitted wool sweater, the tired pants and the muddy boots, has to shorten the hair and thin the body, but it’s him, it is, it’s Yoo Kihyun. Granted Yoongi had never seen him smile that way, had never heard him laugh this loud. Mousy, quiet Kihyun, and maybe the feeling unfurling in his stomach is guilt.

Kihyun stands after a last pat on the dog’s head, saying something Yoongi doesn’t hear and the chaser climbs at the back of the pickup amongst empty crates, calling the dog to him as Kihyun skirts around to reach the passenger door. As he passes, his gaze lands on Yoongi. Yoongi freezes. But Kihyun just shares an absent smile, the one you give strangers you accidentally lock eyes with, and disappears behind the truck. Somehow it shouldn’t sting this much, Yoongi thinks. He should probably be relieved, even, that Kihyun doesn’t remember him. There was nothing good enough to remember, between them.

He shrugs, absently staring at the cellphones behind the glass window, trying to remember what was the last thing he had said to Kihyun, but that’s not what’s come to mind. What he remembers is a dusty field, the heat of summer bearing down on him. Taehyung hanging off his arm, sweaty hands and glistening eyes, Hoseok kicking the soccer ball way too hard, the laughs and the yells. He had looked up, then, he had looked up as if someone had called him. He’d seen him, leaning at the window sill, a mass of dark hair and rumpled uniform. They hadn’t locked eyes. They hadn’t said anything. Taehyung had kicked the ball and Hoseok had pushed him back into the game and it was the last time Min Yoongi had seen Yoo Kihyun.

  
  


**2.**

Hoseok drives way too fast. Way too fast, and always with the windows down, except when it’s raining. Kihyun can see Minhyuk’s back pressed against the rear window to shelter himself from the wind, Alli snuggled up to him. There’s an old song on the radio, something Kihyun used to know the words to. Hoseok keeps sneaking glances, giving him an itch on his skin but Kihyun keeps his eyes stubbornly locked on the road. Until he can’t stand it anymore, after Hoseok opens his mouth to close it right back again once too many times.

“What?” he asks, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice but the awkward laugh Hoseok gives tells him he failed.

“Nothing, just. You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kihyun retorts, wishing Hoseok would keep his unnatural observational skills solely on the vegetables they harvest.

“Just. You seemed fine and then not so much.”

Kihyun sighs, bringing his eyes back on the road. He can see the edge of their own fields coming up, the pumpkins they have to harvest soon resting their heavy heads on the soft earth. He knows that if he’s going to say anything, it’s going to have to be now. Hoseok knows him well, waited for the relative privacy of the truck to offer him a chance to talk.

“Was I that obvious?” Kihyun asks and Hoseok shrugs, keeping quiet.

“I thought I saw someone I knew,” Kihyun says, “and I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

Hoseok hums, switching on his turn signal before engaging on the dirt path leading to the farm despite the road being entirely deserted. Hoseok’s just lawful like that.

“What kind of someone?”

“A high-school classmate kind of someone?”

“Good kind or bad kind?”

This stumps Kihyun for a bit. Mostly it had been bad. Not terribly bad, but enough that he didn’t like thinking back on his high school days. It hadn’t been entirely Yoongi’s fault, though. He had mostly just gone with the flow. It’s Kihyun’s own feelings which had hurt the most.

“Mostly not great I guess,” he says eventually, seeing Hoseok nod from the corner of his eyes. Hoseok always seems to understand perfectly well what you mean.

“I doubt it was really him anyway,” Kihyun continues, “I don’t see why he’d come back here.”

“If it was, do we need to keep an eye out?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but Kihyun bursts out laughing. The image of Hoseok, tanned, muscular, won’t-hurt-a-fly Hoseok looming over his own high-school crush slash sorta-bully Min Yoongi in the middle of a pumpkin field has a distinct flavour of absurdity he cannot really get over.

“I think I’m gonna be fine,” he says when he manages to calm down, Hoseok smiling as he parks the truck, “but thanks.”

“Anytime, boss,” Hoseok says, turning off the engine. When they exit the truck Minhyuk is already there, scowling, hair an angry blond mess.

“Next time you’re getting in the back,” he snarls, pushing a finger in Kihyun’s face.

“I can’t. I have a bad leg.”

“Lies and slanders!” Minhyuk yells, throwing his hands over his head before stomping in the direction of the house, Alli bounding on his feet. Hoseok laughs, starting right away on unloading the empty crates.

“How much did you guys sell?” a smooth voice asks then and Kihyun turns to Hyunwoo with a jump. He never hears him arrive. Someone so big shouldn’t be so quiet, Kihyun thinks for the umpteenth time, gesturing to the empty crates in the truck bed.

“Everything,” he says proudly, “once again we shall thank American imperialism for making pumpkins so popular at this time of the year.”

“I’ll send a letter to the embassy,” Hyunwoo says evenly as he grabs some of the crates Hoseok had unloaded, dragging them to the barn down the driveway. Hoseok stares at him. Kihyun stares at Hoseok.

“I’m sorry he’s so dense,” Kihyun eventually says, when the silence stretches. Hoseok’s absent gaze snaps back to him, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kihyun says, shrugging. The door to the house has opened, Hyungwon leaning against the door frame, and if Hyungwon is awake it’s that surely food has been made. Kihyun is starving.

“Your mum brought an apple pie,” is the first thing that comes out of Hyungwon’s mouth when Kihyun reaches him. “And geotjeori. And she said to eat it with the leftover galkugsu from yesterday _.”_

“Alright,” Kihyun says, toeing his boots off. Hyungwon has already lost all interest in him, burying his face in Alli’s fur.

“We’re spoiling him,” Kihyun remarks, “he’s supposed to be a guard dog.”

“He’s guarding my heart,” Hyungwon answers, cheek pressed to the top of Alli’s head. Kihyun pretends to gag. Hyungwon shows him his teeth. Alli rolls on his back and both of them crouch next to him, offering well-deserved belly rubs.

“You’re the worst guard dog ever,” Kihyun tells Alli who doesn’t seem to mind. Hyungwon laughs, and it’s then that Kihyun notices something is slightly askew. It’s in the way Hyungwon touches the dog, as if looking for comfort. In the way the corners of his smile don’t really reach his eyes. Kihyun doesn’t say anything,

“My parents called,” Hyungwon says eventually, a lilt to his voice Kihyun doesn’t like. His hands have stilled in Alli’s bright fur.

“Oh god,” Kihyun says, lifting his gaze to Hyungwon, “what did they say?”

“They wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“Why?” Kihyun asks, a sour taste in his mouth. He’s not the biggest fan of Hyungwon’s parents. He has yet to find a way to let them know their son will never be like they expect him to be, and that it’s fine. That Hyungwon himself is perfectly fine the way he is.

“Probably so you can tell them how super good I am at tilling,” Hyungwon says dejectedly. He has crouched even lower, splaying his fingers on Alli’s belly.

“Last time I let you near a hoe you almost brained yourself,” Kihyun remarks evenly.

“I know, I was there. And so was my blood.”

Kihyun snorts, and the tentative smile blooming on Hyungwon’s face makes him feel better.

“If they call when I’m not there just don’t answer,” Kihyun says then.

“I thought you said I should stop ignoring the real world.”

“I meant as in, don’t stay in the orchard reading past ungodly hours when everyone’s looking for you and it’s goddamn freezing. Ignoring phone calls is a human right.”

Hyungwon looks up when he smiles this time, and it’s a real smile, one that reaches his eyes. Kihyun resists the urge to pat his hair like he would do Alli’s and gets up, offering Hyungwon his hand so he can pull himself to his feet.

“Let’s go make lunch,” he says, and that finishes to restore Hyungwon to happiness. Sometimes Kihyun sorts of envies Hyungwon’s capacity to forget everything unpleasant just as soon as he deems it over, no traces left in his mind. Admittedly his grip on reality isn’t all that firm, but maybe Kihyun’s is too much so. And he thinks back to the figure standing near the shop, and he hadn’t told the entire truth to Hoseok. Kihyun had known right away it was Yoongi standing there. And he knew perfectly well how that made him feel. A bit rattled, a bit stunned, a bit upset. He had thought that wound had closed over long ago, but half a second had sufficed to tell him that it had not, the flesh still raw, the blood still wet.

“Get away from that pie!” Hyungwon is yelling, which is enough out of character to snap Kihyun back to the moment.

“Damn okay,” Jooheon says, startled, his guilty hand cradled to his chest. He’s muddy from head to toe, Kihyun figuring that he must have come from weeding the fields. Somehow Jooheon always manages to make an unbelievable mess of himself and Kihyun suspects he does it on purpose for some obscure reason.

“Can’t you get cleaned-up before you come tracking mud everywhere?” Kihyun asks as he gets to the fridge, dragging out the impressive amount of leftover kalguksu to dump it into a pot and reheat.

“Minhyuk evicted me from the bathroom yelling something about his hair. We need to finish renovating the other one before there’s a murder.”

“Or you guys could like, go back to your own homes sometimes.”

“And miss out on all the fun? No way.”

Kihyun rolls his eyes as he stirs the pot, hearing Hyungwon bringing out plates and cutlery, needling Jooheon into helping him. They don’t even have to ring the impressive cow bell they installed outside to signal for dinner. Somehow everyone has figured out Kihyun and Hoseok’s return meant lunch. Hyunwoo and Hoseok drift in together, closely followed by Minhyuk, in a better mood now that his hair are back to normal. Changkyun is the last to join, sitting at the head of the table as Kihyun puts a hearty bowl of noodle soup in front of him. Alli has disappeared under the table, patiently waiting for the scraps he’s sure to get.

“I think Beautiful needs new shoes,” Changkyun says, absently pulling at his noodles.

“I still can’t get over how you guys named a donkey ‘beautiful’,” Jooheon remarks, earning himself a kick under the table and a glare from Minhyuk.

“Shut up, it’s a perfectly adequate name,” he says and Jooheon shrugs, slurping down noodles.

“I’ll call my dad,” Hoseok tells Changkyun “I think he should be available tomorrow.”

Changkyun beams at him in thanks, now free to focus on his lunch. It’s Kihyun’s favourite part of the day, them all seated there at the big table Hyunwoo custom-made from scrap wood. They’re always too loud, too messy, too themselves and Kihyun likes it, likes the warmth they give off, the familiarity of their voices, their demeanour.

“I’m a bit worried about the pumpkins in the bed we made last month,” Hoseok says towards the end of the meal, “some of the plants are wilting.”

“Shit,” Kihyun says, resting back in his chair. “Pests or root rot?”

“I’d say rot.”

A collective groan is heard around the table, Kihyun rising his hands in an appeasing gesture.

“I’ll go take a look. It’s not so bad if we catch it early enough.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hyungwon says then, “I have to check on the bees.”

The bees are the only thing Hyungwon seems to actually like taking care of on the farm. Kihyun only had one hive at the beginning, acquiring two others when Hyungwon had shown an overflowing enthusiasm like in nothing else he did, apart maybe reading. Kihyun had also taken to add companion plants to the pumpkin fields, ones the bees would like; lavender and sunflowers and marigolds, and the fields had turned into a swath of colours he liked to just look at, sometimes, seated on the porch.

“I’ll come too,” Minhyuk says and Hyungwon smiles at him before burying his face in the rest of his noodles. Minhyuk wasn’t great at a lot of things on the farm either, principally due to the fact that he didn’t really care and thus did no effort whatsoever, but somehow the bees and Beautiful the donkey had managed to win his heart. Them and Hyungwon, Kihyun suspects, but he never asked.

As a true testimony to how much he wants to eat the apple pie, Jooheon volunteers to clear the table once everyone is done eating, going so far as starting on the dishes as Hyunwoo cuts the pie in equal parts.

“By the way,” Hyunwoo says quietly, letting his spoon rest against his plate with a clink. “Namjoon invited me to his Halloween party. I thought maybe you guys would like to come too.”

“Does he actually host it on Halloween this year?” Jooheon asks when he stops chewing for long enough that words can get out.

“No. It’s like, tomorrow.”

Minhyuk snickers, shaking his head. Namjoon is a bit odd. He owns the only bookstore in town, the one where Hyunwoo and Hyungwon spend an inordinate amount of time hanging at. When he had learned Hyunwoo was actually working on his literature PhD. he had latched onto him with slightly too much enthusiasm and Hyunwoo, being nice, had returned the friendship. Kihyun had seen him a couple times, mostly at the parties Namjoon liked to host sometimes, even if he spent the majority of them sitting in a corner nursing the same drink.

Kihyun remembered him from high school as part of Yoongi’s gaggle of friends but also, not really. He’d been sort of hanging there, aloof and detached, seemingly not all that aware of the high school politics going on around him. To be perfectly honest Kihyun had sort of liked him then, and sort of liked him still.

“We have to get up at 6 for the harvesting on Saturday though,” Hoseok remarks, Changkyun raising his gaze to him.

“Yeah? And?”

“Nothing. Just thought of putting that out there. Last year you threw up in the field.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“It was funny,” Hyungwon adds, making grabby hands until Hyunwoo slips him another slice of pie.

“See, it can be funny this year too. Come on.”

“You guys go,” Kihyun says then, “I’m giving you the afternoon off to prepare. I’ll start on the harvesting myself, just show up when you can.”

“Seriously?” Changkyun asks him with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Kihyun says, laughing. “You guys sort of deserve it. It’s only the small patch near the fence anyway, it will be done in no time.”

He can feel how they hesitate, sharing glances and wiggling eyebrows.

“That’s an order,” Kihyun adds, “go to the party or you’re all fired.”

“You can’t fire me,” Hyungwon pipes up, “I’m your cousin.”

“Want me to send you back to your parents?” Kihyun asks without malice.

“I can’t wait for the party,” Hyungwon says, shoveling more pie into his mouth.

Kihyun watches them, satisfied. The little nagging thought at the back of his mind, the one shaped like a high school boy grown up too fast, has almost disappeared.

  
  


**3.**

Once again Yoongi notices how Namjoon never really changes, and that it should probably be concerning, but Yoongi remembers that he already felt like kind of an adult back in highschool. They’re sitting in a little coffee shop, one that looks like any other indie coffee shop you can find back in Seoul, with wooden floors and mismatched tables and it’s that, more than anything else, that makes Yoongi realize how much time has actually passed. That and Taehyung, sitting there, telling them about his goddamn wedding, of all things.

“I’m glad you could come,” he’s saying, the grin on his face threatening to split him in half.

“Did you have to get married here though? Couldn’t you do it like, back home?”

“This is ‘back home’,” Taehyung says, and, well, Yoongi figures he’s sort of right.

“I’m happy everyone will be back,” Namjoon is saying, with a fond look on his face that would make Yoongi gag if he wasn’t so glad to see him. Namjoon’s the only one of them who stayed in their home-town, for whichever obscure reason Yoongi had never understood. Something about roots, and going travelling and coming back and a place waiting for you and what are you saying? Yoongi had interrupted, pushing a half-drunk Namjoon off the sofa. But the Namjoon in front of him right now is perfectly sober, the soft expression on his face a bit too much for Yoongi, who turns to Taehyung.

“When is everyone arriving?”

Taehyung shrugs helplessly. Everyone is supposed to stream in during the next few days. He had been too busy to keep track.

“It’s too bad they won’t be here in time for my Halloween party,” Namjoon says, nursing the black coffee in his hands.

“Who the hell hosts a Halloween party three weeks before the actual Halloween?” Taehyung asks, sipping his own drink, some ungodly caffeinated concoction with too much sugar.

“Me,” Namjoon says, “it’s sort of a tradition around here now. Everyone comes.”

 _Everyone,_ Yoongi thinks, and something uneasy unfurls in his chest.

“Hey, hum, guys?” he asks, not really sure if it’s a good idea, but both Namjoon and Taehyung are already staring at him expectantly. He licks his lips, continuing nervously. “Remember Kihyun? Yoo Kihyun, from high school?”

“What about him?” Taehyung asks, brows slightly furrowed. Yoongi wonders how Taehyung remembers Kihyun. If he feels the same guilt, the same strange feeling under his heart.

“I think I saw him in town, but like… Didn’t he leave too? Like he had a scholarship or something.”

“He came back,” Namjoon says, putting down his drink on the table. “He took over his parents’ farm.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi knows what he’s thinking. For a class of country bumpkins they all had relentlessly mocked Kihyun for living on an actual farm. And Kihyun had done all he could to distance himself from his family. The irreproachably pressed uniform, the clean haircut, the smart glasses. The straight As and the scholarships and the grand aspirations. It had been all for nothing, bringing in more torments, for different reasons this time. Whatever he did was the wrong thing, and it had been much later that Yoongi had realized they had all successfully managed to make him hate himself.

“And how is that working out for him?” Taehyung is asking, Yoongi turning to Namjoon in earnest.

“Pretty well I think. I don’t know him very well. But I’m sort of friend with this guy who works for him. Son Hyunwoo. I invited him to the party, you can ask him then.”

“You invited him?” Yoongi croaks, wondering once again if Namjoon truly never noticed what was going on at the time.

“Yeah?”

“Will Kihyun come too?”

“I don’t know. He came once or twice but it’s a busy time for him now. Why? You don’t like him?”

 _More like I think he hates me_ , Yoongi says, and then wonders. The Kihyun he had seen, with the dog and the rude friend, he had seemed happy. So far from the sad, scared teenager he remembered. He hadn’t even seemed to recognize him, and Yoongi wonders why that still stings. If he’d been him he would have wished to forget, too, the ones who had stood by and did nothing, the ones who had laughed, the ones who had stared and sneered and pushed him away. He catches Taehyung staring at him with a worried crease on his brow, and pushes a forceful smile to his lips.

“No, I was just wondering. It’s been – it’s been a while.”

“You can always visit him if you wanna catch up.”

Yoongi almost laughs at the absurdity of Namjoon’s remark but then, he hadn’t stopped thinking about Kihyun since he’d seen him, and maybe he did want to see him and – and what? Apologize? Ask him how he’s doing? Yoongi shakes his head, something wistful tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’m good. Like you said, he’s busy. There’s no need.”

“Alright,” Namjoon shrugs, picking up his drink again. The conversation shifts back to Taehyung’s wedding but if Yoongi manages to laugh and nod at the right places, he cannot focus on what is really said. He keeps thinking back to Kihyun, Kihyun laughing with a dog and Kihyun crying in a school bathroom, Kihyun climbing in a blue pick-up truck and Kihyun gathering the remains of his scattered lunch, Kihyun looking at him without recollection and Kihyun looking at him with eyes asking for help and him ignoring him, ignoring him and laughing along.

And he needs to do something, Yoongi realizes, he needs to do something about these feelings, this guilt he kept within him for all those years. Somehow the idea of Kihyun being out there, hating the memory of high school so much he doesn’t even recognize him, spills tar between his ribs.

  
  


**4.**

“So?” Hoseok is asking, crouched next to Kihyun in the little pumpkin patch near the beehives. “What’s your verdict?”

“Root rot,” Kihyun sighs, thumbing the leaves of the wilting pumpkin plant. They had tried a new variety in a little empty plot, and the plants had thrived, at the beginning. Not anymore. He hears Hoseok swear next to him, stares at the sad, wilting plants, and allows himself to feel the defeat spread through his being before speaking again.

“We need to destroy the infected ones before it spreads. Do we still have fungicide? We used it last year, right?”

“I’ll check,” Hoseok says, “I think we still have some.”

“This sucks,” Kihyun says, letting himself fall on his bum in the soft earth. He can hear faded giggling coming from the beehives; Minhyuk and Hyungwon are there, dressed in full beekeeping gear, doing god knows what to the hives. But watching them makes Kihyun feel better, and so he stares for a little more, listening as Hoseok makes suggestions on where to start, how they should check all the other plots to make sure, how they can’t repeat the catastrophe that was the pest infestation of two years ago.

“When it rains it pours,” Kihyun says absently, hearing Hoseok startle next to him.

“What?”

“Nothing, sorry.”

Kihyun wonders if this is all a bad omen. Yoongi’s reappearance, Hyungwon’s parents calling, the root rot spreading. It feels like something ominous is gathering strength, and Kihyun shudders on the cold earth.

“Let’s get this over with as soon as possible. Get Hyunwoo to help us, and send Changkyun and Jooheon to check the other plots.”

It’s depressing work. Uprooting the diseased plants, throwing them into crates they charge on their old pick-up to go dump in a heap they’ll burn later. They had planted these as seeds, had watched them grow, and now Kihyun held their lifeless corpses into his hands. Admittedly he was being a bit dramatic, but the others weren’t exactly brimming with joy either. Even less when Changkyun and Jooheon came back, feet muddy and faces grim.

“How did we fuck up this bad?” Kihyun asks, throwing his hands up.

“It rained much more than last year,” Hyunwoo is saying, “and the summer was much too warm. The water stayed in the soil.”

“We should have known,” Kihyun says, and it’s hard not to take this as a personal failure. The others exchange worried looks, shuffling their feet, and Kihyun shakes himself. This is his land, he’s supposed to be the one to know what to do.

“Sorry,” he says, “it’s alright. It hasn’t spread that much yet. We’ll just do what we have to and it should be fine.”

Everyone nods, and for once not even Jooheon complains when they have to spend the whole afternoon out in the fields, ripping out diseased plants, making innumerable trips to their growing heap. Beautiful helps them by munching on the wilted leaves, two of Minhyuk’s goats approaching curiously. As Beautiful eats Kihyun takes the opportunity to check his hooves and it’s true that his shoes needs changing; he makes sure to ask Hoseok again, who confirms his father will come in the next morning.

With all this to take care of, Kihyun sort of forgets about the party. It sneaks up on him a day later, when Hyungwon shows up to breakfast with a bright blue clown wig.

“What’s this?” Kihyun asks over his coffee, an eyebrow raised.

“My costume for the party,” Hyungwon says, beaming. “Minhyuk and I are going as clowns.”

“Like, murder clowns?”

“No. Just regular lame clowns,” Hyungwon answer. “His wig is pink,” he elaborates and Kihyun bites back a laugh, nodding, slightly endeared by the note of excitement in Hyungwon’s voice. As Hyungwon sits Hoseok trudges into the kitchen, wishing them good morning. His father drove here with him, he explains, and went directly to the stables. Kihyun nods, wiping his buttery hands on his thighs as he gets up.

“I’ll join him,” he says, Hoseok nodding as he grabs himself a cup of coffee. Kihyun likes Hoseok’s old man. In their cases ‘like father like son’ applies for the best. They’re both gentle, both honest, both loyal men who’ve helped Kihyun more than he could ever repay. As he passes he grabs the last slice of pie from the day before.

The morning is cold, wisps of mist still clinging to the trees, and Kihyun hugs his coat tighter to himself, one hand holding the plate of pie. He finds Hoseok’s dad already busy taking off the old shoes from Beautiful’s hooves, who lets himself be handled without protesting, for once.

“Hello,” Kihyun says softly, setting himself on a ball of hay.

“Oh, hi Kihyun,” Hoseok’s dad answers, glancing above his shoulder. “Everything alright?”

“Sure. I brought you apple pie.”

“Who doesn’t love apple pie at seven in the morning,” Hoseok’s dad says, letting go of Beautiful’s hind leg and wiping his hands on a kerchief he retrieves from his apron’s pocket. He sits next to Kihyun, taking the pie from him.

“Hoseokkie tells me you have root rot?”

“Yeah,” Kihyun sighs, “we got rid of most of the diseased plants yesterday.”

“Big losses?”

“Not so much that it will be a problem.”

“Still sucks, though.”

“Yeah,” Kihyun laughs. “I didn’t think it would be this hard, even though I grew up here. I guess when everything’s your responsibility it feels different.”

Hoseok’s dad nods, swallowing a hearty bite of the pie.

“It does. But you’re doing well. Much better than everyone thought you would when you came back.”

“I bet,” Kihyun says, remembering. Strangely it had been an easy decision, dropping out from university, giving up his scholarship to come back here. It had felt like the first real choice he had ever made, and it had felt good, almost powerful, as if he’d finally regained control over himself. He’d been good at studying. Excellent, even. But it had not made him happy. It had been an escape, something to do to give himself value because if not this, what else was there?

Pumpkins, it turned out, and the few years he had spent on the farm had felt more real, more compelling than all those who had came before.

“I hope Hoseokkie’s not giving you any trouble,” Hoseok’s dad continues, and Kihyun shakes his head, smiling.

“He’s not. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Good,” the man says, finishing off the pie in an impressive bite, “you need good friends.”

Kihyun smiles something wistful, wondering if Hoseok’s dad knows more about him that he’s letting on. Hoseok and Kihyun had met a few years back, when Kihyun used to come for summer break. Hoseok was already working on neighbouring farms while learning his father’s trade, and he’d come to Kihyun’s farm to help with the summer crops, tomatoes and eggplants and zucchinis. Somehow they had hit it off right away; Kihyun had needed Hoseok’s patience, his gentleness and companionable silences. He’d been Kihyun’s first real friend, now that he thinks about it, and something warms unfurls in his chest, flowing right there between his ribs.

“Don’t let him off too easy though,” Hoseok’s dad says as he stands, dusting off his hands on his thighs.

“I’ll finish here with Beautiful, I have a few horses to go check out sooner than later.”

“Sure,” Kihyun tells him. “Thanks, come by the house if you want a bite before leaving.”

Hoseok’s dad waves him off, already more interested in Beautiful than anything else, and Kihyun hurries back to the house to get out of the cold. It’s a lazy morning today, Changkyun and Jooheon even slower to arrive than usual, Minhyuk showing up well into the morning, when Hyunwoo is already out in the fields with Hoseok and even Hyungwon has decided to be useful for once, quietly weeding the diseased pumpkin patch near the beehives. But there is work to do, and so it passes quickly, much too quickly, all finding themselves seated at the table spooning kimchi jjigae into their mouths well before they’re truly hungry.

“Can we change here?” Changkyun asks, snapping Kihyun out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“For the party? If you let us change here we can do some more work and then go directly from here.”

“You don’t have to,” Kihyun waves him off, spooning another burning mouthful of jjigae past his lips.

“Yeah I know, but we want to.”

Kihyun looks up at him, a little surprised to find everyone staring.

“If it’s because of the root rot I’ll survive. I’m not gonna go cry myself to sleep out in the pumpkin patch and freeze to death.”

“It’s not that,” Changkyun says, but it’s exactly that, Kihyun knows, “we just came a bit late this morning and since you let us off the hook for tomorrow’s harvest…”

“Alright alright,” Kihyun concedes, rolling his eyes, “change here if you must.”

It’s when Kihyun watches Hoseok strut out of his room in a skintight cowboy outfit that Kihyun thanks Changkyun for insisting. This is too good to pass up.

“Is the stripper effect wanted or is it because you just look like that?” he asks, leaning against the wall. Hoseok does a little spin and something obscene with his hips.

“I’m feeling this.”

“Well I’m not,” Hyunwoo’s voice reaches them from the bathroom, and Kihyun watches with growing glee as he emerges in a cop outfit that could probably get him arrested for indecent exposure.

“Seriously,” Kihyun says, “did you guys find these at a sex shop?”

“No, but thanks for the tip,” Hoseok says, laughing as Hyunwoo rolls his eyes. But he’s blushing too, and Kihyun wiggles his eyebrows to Hoseok who doesn’t get it. How can someone who looks like that can be this innocent will always be lost on Kihyun.

“Dudes I don’t think I fit in the door,” Changkyun’s voice reaches them feebly from the living room and they all pile inside, discovering Changkyun there, wiggling terrifyingly stunted arms.

“Why?” Kihyun croaks over Hoseok’s hilarity.

“I don’t know, I just had it.”

“You just had an inflatable dinosaur costume lying around.”

“Yeah,” Changkyun says, and Kihyun stops asking.

“This is going great,” he says instead, turning to smack right into Jooheon coming down the hallway.

“You’re not dressing up?” he asks, Jooheon looking down at himself and the awful flowery shirt he’s wearing, dribbling over brown corduroy slacks.

“I am dressed up. I’m a hipster. Call me Johnson.”

Kihyun rolls his eyes, following everyone to the front door.

“You guys will never make it into the party,” he says, “they’ll shoot you on sight.”

They have to help Changkyun more or less crawl through the front door, his stupid inflatable dinosaur head wiggling all the while. Minhyuk and Hyungwon have brought the pick up to the front, effectively making it a clown car, and Kihyun watches them all pile up inside the rear-bed, ready to wave them goodbye when Hyungwon leans off the passenger window, gesturing for him to approach.

“Are you sure you’re not coming?” he asks, and there’s a worried lilt to his voice Kihyun doesn’t quite like.

“Yes, there is work to do tomorrow. It’s gonna be fine.”

“It’s just, I’d like it better if you came. I don’t know if I wanna go if you don’t.”

“You wore that wig all day. You do want to go.”

“No,” Hyungwon says, and Kihyun glances at the dinosaur’s head sticking over the truck’s cabin, at the bright pink of Minhyuk’s wig through the windshield, at the misery growing in Hyungwon’s eyes.

“I don’t have a costume,” he ends up saying, to which Minhyuk’s voice rises in answer.

“That can be arranged!”

Somehow they all file back into the house, Changkyun included, even though they have to lock Alli in the living room to prevent him from chasing the dinosaur, despite the hilarity of watching Changkyun scream-wiggle down the hallway. They gather around the kitchen table, watching as Minhyuk furiously carves into the biggest pumpkin they could find.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Kihyun says, everyone shushing him.

“I could just go as a vampire,” he tries again later, when Minhyuk has almost finished his masterpiece. “I’m sure I got those plastic fangs somewhere.”

“No,” Minhyuk says, turning a grimacing pumpkin to him. “Vampires are overdone. We gotta stand out.”

“We have an inflated dinosaur,” Kihyun says lamely. “We will stand out.”

“Put that on your head, Kihyun.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Minhyuk, no,” Kihyun says as sternly as he can.

“Minhyuk yes,” Minhyuk retorts.

Kihyun should know no one ever wins against Minhyuk. And so he learns that the inside of a pumpkin is pretty humid, despite the padding and the hood he is wearing. The pumpkin itself is pretty heavy, too.

“I will die.”

“It looks so good though”, he hears Minhyuk say. Or maybe it was Hyungwon. The sounds are sort of muffled inside the pumpkin. It’s kinda restful, in a way.

“Can we go now?” Changkyun asks, and the comedy of getting him out of the house and into the truck bed starts all over again.

They arrive an hour late to the party, and Minhyuk was right. There’s at least four vampires.

“Overdone,” the man himself whispers at the approximate place of Kihyun’s ear as they stand at the entrance of the bar, surveying the surroundings. Namjoon always throws great parties. He rented a nice little bar this time, the kind Kihyun never has the time to go to, the kind he would probably not dare to enter even if he had. It’s too slick, too nice, wooden floors and antique looking tables and the spooky twist they added to the decoration is in good taste, nothing tacky, none of the plastic bats and dancing skeletons Minhyuk and Changkyun had taken to pepper all over the farm.

Another thing Minhyuk was right about is how much they stand out. They get stares, and Kihyun can feel Hyunwoo trying to shrink himself behind him. There is a lot of guests they don’t know. A lot of guests with the kind of slick, non-tacky costumes to go with the decoration.

“Why did I let you guys talk me into this,” Kihyun grumbles from the depths of his pumpkin but it’s not as bad as it could be, he realizes just then. There is Hyungwon next to him, his hand squeezing his own and he looks happy, settled, and when Minhyuk drags his tall frame towards the thick of the crowd, his hand slipping from Kihyun’s, he looks back and beams. There’s Hoseok, pulling on Hyunwoo’s hand to get him to go dancing, and Changkyun’s dinosaur head bobbing tall over everyone else’s as Jooheon uses him like a snowplough to get through the crowd.

“Goddamnit,” Kihyun swears softly, rotating in place until he’s but a straight line away from the bar. The visibility from inside the pumpkin is not great, and he really hopes the bar will be able to give him a straw long enough for him to be able to drink. He cannot get through this entirely sober.

When he get there he finds Jooheon holding a drink to Changkyun’s face. They had not foreseen that Changkyun’s stupidly stunted inflated arms would be of absolutely no use whatsoever.

“That’s quite the turnout,” Jooheon beams when he sees Kihyun approach.

“I’ll kill you both,” Kihyun retorts. But Jooheon’s right. Kihyun hasn’t seen so many people in one place for years and he’s not entirely sure how he feels about it. A bit stifled, to be honest, and he’s suddenly glad for the barrier the pumpkin provides between him and everyone else.

“Some friend of Namjoon is getting married,” Changkyun says, “and that’s like, half his guests.”

“Please do not try to get yourself invited,” Kihyun warns, Changkyun smiling his wolfish grin.

“That’s too late,” Jooheon says, “we already met the guy. He loved Changkyun’s costume so much they’re mates now.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Kihyun grumbles, “we’ve been here five minutes and you managed to get yourself invited to a stranger’s wedding?”

“I can’t help it if everybody loves me,” Changkyun says, gesturing for Jooheon to give him another sip. Kihyun feels like kicking them both.

“Oh look,” Jooheon says, “that’s the guy.”

They both wave like two idiots and Kihyun follows their gaze to a tall, pretty guy waving back at them from the other end of the bar. He looks familiar, Kihyun thinks then, and oh, of course he does. Kim Taehyung, third year, class 6’s resident pretty boy. Kihyun is about to dive behind Changkyun when he realizes that no one can recognize him, hidden as he is inside a pumpkin. Kihyun mentally thanks Minhyuk for being unhinged but his heart is still hammering against his ribs and he wonders what it is, fear or shame or both. Taehyung hadn’t really done anything to him, just like the majority of his class. He had just stood by, and laughed sometimes. Shame, then, that someone would be here who remembered what it was like, for him, what he himself was like. Kihyun needs a drink.

Thankfully there’s enough fancy cocktails with fancy straws to last him a lifetime, and it’s when he finally manages to fit the straw through his grimacing pumpkin mouth that Jooheon decides to drag both him and Changkyun towards the dance floor. Kihyun complies if only to see how Changkyun will fare in his ridiculous costume. Better than without, it turns out, and Kihyun laughs, and maybe it’s not so bad, even if Taehyung is right there at the back of his mind.

“That’s quite impressive,” someone says next to him when Changkyun manages a spin that almost whacks out half of his audience.

“You should see him without the costume,” Kihyun retorts, “he’s even worse.”

The guy laughs, and it sounds familiar, way too familiar; Kihyun turns his whole body towards the man, and gapes.

He must have aimed for some kind of rock-star look, smudged eyeliner and silver studs in his ears, too-tight leather pants and a ripped shirt under a leather perfecto. Kihyun rotates quietly back towards the dancefloor, teeth clamped on his straw, and tries to breath.

“You have an interesting costume too,” Yoongi is saying, and Kihyun chokes on his drink.

“Thanks,” he manages to croak out, “it’s a bit last minute. My friend made it.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know about the party either. I came for Taehyung’s wedding so I didn’t have anything.”

“So you mean to tell me those are your actual everyday clothes?”

Yoongi looks down at himself with a sheepish look.

“Kinda? The pants are Taehyung’s.”

“Figures,” Kihyun grumbles, taking a hearty sip of his drink. They never put enough alcohol in these things.

“Isn’t it hot inside the pumpkin?”

“I’m sweating like a whore in a church,” Kihyun says and oh, well, maybe they do. Yoongi is laughing. It’s a nice sound. The one that had drawn Kihyun to him, back then. Yoongi would laugh with his whole body, gummy grin and crescent eyes, carefree and happy and it had been the most perfect thing for Kihyun, something he had envied at first, something he had loved in the end. He’d started to watch him then, looking out for the small things that made Yoongi Yoongi; the pouts and the laughs and how he would fall asleep in class, how he’d lean against his friends, the way he spoke too loud and seethed quietly and Kihyun had foolishly hoped some of it could be directed at him one day, some of the laughs and soft touches.

Of course it had been a ridiculous hope, and when Yoongi had finally looked at him Kihyun had seen the same contempt than everyone else in his eyes, tinged with a pity Kihyun had hated. And so he’d done his best to hate him too, hate everything that made Yoongi Yoongi.

“Do you want to get some air outside?”

“What?” Kihyun splutters, turning to Yoongi again. “I just got here.”

“I know,” Yoongi is laughing again and it churns something in Kihyun’s stomach, something buried and wilted. “I don’t mean leaving, just–”

“Yo pumpkin boy!” a loud voice interrupts them, Minhyuk draping himself over Kihyun in a cloud of synthetic pink hair. “I lost our strippers.”

“We have strippers?” Kihyun asks dumbly, trying to push Minhyuk off himself with no luck.

“Yes. You know. Our own village people. Oh hey,” he says, spotting Yoongi. “Nice costume.”

“Thanks?” Yoongi answers, unsure gaze shifting from Kihyun to Minhyuk. It’s when Minhyuk’s eyes narrow that Kihyun starts to sense danger.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Minhyuk asks, peering too close to Yoongi’s face.

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi says, “I’d remember the hair.”

“Oh!” Minhyuk exclaims, turning to Kihyun. “He’s funny. A funny man.”

“How many drinks have you had?” Kihyun asks, noticing the rosy tint of Minhyuk’s cheeks.

“Not enough.”

“We’ve been here like fifteen minutes.”

Minhyuk shrugs, leaning too heavily against Kihyun’s shoulder, his wig mushed against the pumpkin. Kihyun is afraid to inhale it were he to breath too hard.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Yoongi, “I’m going to help him find our strippers.”

He turns away before Yoongi can answer, and maybe Yoongi does say something but the music is too loud, the pumpkin too thick for Kihyun to hear anything. He pilots Minhyuk through the crowd, half listening to his ramblings. His grip on Minhyuk’s arm may be a little too tight, his heart may be hammering a little too fast, and there’s an itch at the back of his head wanting him to turn around. He doesn’t, though, eyes forcefully locked ahead of him as if he was afraid they’d stray, and he wishes he had never come. It would have been better to sit at home crying about the root rot instead of stirring up old feelings he thought buried.

Minhyuk saved him twice, though, and he relaxes his grip, sitting him gently at an empty table.

“You alright?” he asks, Minhyuk looking up at him with watery eyes.

“I am.”

“Where’s Hyungwon?” Kihyun asks then. Hyungwon is the kind to disappear at parties, and it can be both a good and a bad thing.

“He found Namjoon and now they’re sitting down talking about books like two old men,” Minhyuk says sadly. A good thing, then, and Kihyun falls into the chair next to Minhyuk.

“I got bored,” Minhyuk is saying, “so I wanted to play with the strippers but I couldn’t find them. And then I found you. I’m sorry I interrupted your flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Kihyun says, and then wonders if maybe Yoongi was. The idea is quickly dismissed, though. Kihyun’s wearing a pumpkin for a head, no one would flirt with that. No one flirts with him without the pumpkin either, though, and Kihyun stops this train of thoughts right there before it turns into a pity party.

“Maybe you should have,” Minhyuk says, “he’s cute.”

“I’m wearing a pumpkin as a head,” Kihyun remarks.

“I’m sorry. You could take it off.”

“No,” Kihyun says, “I’m committed now.” And he’d also rather have his entire farm rot on its feet than Yoongi see his face. But Minhyuk doesn’t need to know that.

“I know where I know him from now,” Minhyuk keeps talking, words slurring into one another. “I yelled at him to catch Alli, and then he didn’t, so I yelled at him some more. Maybe I should go apologize.”

“I think you’re good,” Kihyun tells him. Minhyuk nods, leaning against him, and Kihyun wonders where all that sudden, quiet melancholy is coming from. He cannot look at Minhyuk but he can feel his warmth, his side rich with the feel of it and he leans into it, something soft unfurling in his chest. He wonders, then, if things would have been different if Minhyuk had been there in high school, if he’d have stood up for him or let it happen like everyone else. It’s rotten thoughts, Kihyun knows, but Yoongi and Taehyung’s presence had stirred something ugly in him, something he cannot quite push back down.

“Do you think I’m likeable?” Minhyuk then asks, a bit out of the blue, and Kihyun stiffens. He suddenly wishes he didn’t have the pumpkin head and could look at him, see his expression. As it is Kihyun simply leans into his touch, hoping the comfort is enough.

“Of course you are, what are you talking about?”

“Like, hypothetically, would you date me?”

“That’s a very weird question,” Kihyun says, “but hypothetically, if I was into you, I’d see no objections in dating you.”

“Okay,” Minhyuk says, and it doesn’t seem like the answer he’d wished to hear.

“Come on,” Kihyun says then, jostling his shoulder. “What’s this all about?”

“I just,” Minhyuk interrupts himself, the silence stretching between them, not entirely uncomfortable. It had been a long time, Kihyun realizes, a very long time he hadn’t just sat there with a friend.

“I like your cousin,” Minhyuk ends up saying, and Kihyun laughs.

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“But I don’t think he likes me back,” Minhyuk continues, and that’s it, then, the sadness pouring out of him.

“Ah,” Kihyun says. “Well, it’s hard to tell with Hyungwon. But he lets you take care of the bees with him even if you suck at everything.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Minhyuk deadpans, and Kihyun laughs.

“I mean, you guys came with a couple outfit. I thought that made things pretty obvious.”

“But he dumped me to go talk books with an old man.”

“Namjoon’s not old.”

“He feels like he’s a hundred, though.”

“That’s… not wrong,” Kihyun says, and he hears Minhyuk chuckle. “Just… you know, just ask him. Hyungwon’s not great at reading people. Just tell him how you feel.”

“It’s weird,” Minhyuk says then. “It’s way easier to talk to you when you wear a pumpkin as a head.”

Kihyun laughs, pinching Minhyuk who swats his hand away. Strangely he feels better, lighter, as if Minhyuk had dragged him back to the present where he belongs, where he’s happy, where he’s loved, where the biggest issues he faces are pumpkins’ diseases and the romantic foibles of his friends. Yoongi and Taehyung are just ghosts, ones he can ignore, ones he can bury.

“Oh,” Minhyuk says then, “there they are.”

Kihyun looks in the direction Minhyuk is pointing at and sees Hoseok, his imposing frame leaning into Hyunwoo, who’s now wearing his cowboy hat. They’re both flushed, both laughing, and a slow smile creeps on Kihyun’s lips at the sight.

“Do you wanna bet whether they hook up or not?” Minhyuk says next to him and Kihyun shoves him.

“Don’t ruin it,” he laughs, “this is pure and beautiful.”

“You know if we don’t do anything they’ll be 40 and still mooning over each other.”

“Says you.”

Minhyuk shows him his teeth and punches him in the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, still Kihyun pretends to collapse in his chair, resting his head against the table. He hadn’t realized how heavy the pumpkin was until it touched the wood.

“I’m gonna stay there,” he tells Minhyuk, “just collect me when you guys leave. This is so warm and heavy.”

“Just take it off, seriously.”

“No,” he says, and Minhyuk shrugs. They stay like this for a few minutes more, talking about all and nothing, and it’s nice and easy. Minhyuk gets restless when the music switches to something more upbeat and he leaves Kihyun to go join Changkyun and Jooheon, who are still there on the dancefloor, their moves increasingly more chaotic as the amount of drinks they ingests grows. Kihyun wonders for a second if Namjoon will regret inviting them to his chic Halloween party, before realizing Namjoon isn’t the kind of guy to care about things like that. He probably hasn’t even noticed the state they’re in.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks him after a while and getting back up is a full ordeal; he has to raise his head with both hands, turning his whole body in the direction of the voice before croaking an “I’m dandy.”

And of course, of course it’s Min Yoongi. At least he isn’t sitting down, Kihyun thinks, and then wonders what really is his deal, why is he stalking him? Does he have a thing for pumpkins? Maybe Kihyun should ask.

“Did you find your strippers?” Yoongi says instead, and Kihyun almost laughs at he absurdity of the situation.

“We did. They’re having a grand ol’time. Did you need something?” Kihyun asks and Yoongi shrugs, the ice of the drink in his hand clinking against the glass.

“Not really.”

“Do you have a thing for pumpkins?”

“What?” Yoongi asks, and Kihyun can’t really believe this actually came out of his mouth.

“Sorry,” he cringes, “it’s just, I don’t know why you’d talk to me.”

“You guys are funny,” Yoongi answers, “and I’m bored.”

That’s a good enough reason, Kihyun thinks, and then something possesses him to offer Yoongi a seat. Which he takes, because that’s what normal people do. And then Kihyun realizes with growing horror that Yoongi still laughs the same, still speaks the same, still pouts the same; that all the things that made Yoongi Yoongi are still there under a new, subtle layer of weariness, one that might have come with age, with whatever found him after he left high school, left their town and Kihyun’s life. And it’s directed at him, now, it’s for Kihyun that he laughs, that he speaks and when he leans towards him an inexplicable sadness unfurls in Kihyun’s chest. Because it’s not really true. Because Yoongi isn’t talking to Kihyun, he’s talking to a random guy with a pumpkin for a head he finds funny. Things would probably be very different if he knew, and so Kihyun grows quiet, his answers shortening, and he can see confusion on Yoongi’s face as his laugh dries, as his voice wavers.

Once again, Kihyun’s saved by synthetic hair. Blue, this time, Hyungwon falling in the chair next to him and leaning his head against his shoulder.

“I’m tired,” he says. “I wanna go home.”

Hyungwon’s social battery runs out the fastest, and if he used to force himself for everyone else’s sake Kihyun had quickly put a stop to that.

“I’ll take you,” Kihyun says, “the others already planned on taking a cab anyway.”

The only regret Kihyun has in leaving now is that he won’t see Jooheon stuff Changkyun into a car, but he can probably live with that.

“I have to go,” he says to Yoongi, “it was… nice, talking to you.”

And it’s true, Kihyun realizes, despite the unpleasant aftertaste it leaves him. He all but drags Hyungwon stumbling behind him, and if he hears Yoongi asking for his name, it’s easy to pretend he didn’t, music and loud voices and pumpkin and all.

  
  


**5.**

Yoongi wakes with a headache, crusty eyes, and a warm weight on his stomach. Taehyung groans when he pushes him off, rolling away and taking the comforter with him. Yoongi shivers, chasing the warmth, and ends up having to wrestle the blanket from a giggling Taehyung.

“When does Jimin arrive?” Yoongi asks sourly, “so you can bother him instead. I can’t believe he’s marrying you.”

“I know, he has awful taste in men,” Taehyung says, magnanimously letting Yoongi crawl back under the comforter. “He’ll be there tomorrow night.”

“Is Namjoon keeping all three of us?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, “you’ll probably end up on the couch though.”

“I’ll live,” Yoongi shrugs, stretching. They forgot to draw the curtains and the crisp light of early morning inundates the room Namjoon graciously lent them. He uses it as a sort of storeroom for his bookshop downstairs and the walls are packed with shelves bending under the weight of an impressive collection of second-hand books he has yet to price, to say nothing of the unopened boxes on the floor. Somehow he still managed to shove a sofa-bed in there, the one Taehyung and Yoongi are currently sharing.

“How’s the head?” Taehyung asks, “you got pretty hammered last night.”

“It’s your new friends,” Yoongi answers, “they’re awful.”

Somehow he had ended up doing shots with a guy dressed as a dinosaur, who needed the help of his own friend, dressed as a maths teacher or something, to actually down the shots since he couldn’t use his own arms. It had been a weird night.

“They’re funny. I think I invited them to the wedding.”

“Isn’t the table plan already decided?”

Taehyung shrugs, spreading his long limbs over the bed like a starfish. Yoongi wacks his hand away.

“I don’t even remember their names,” Taehyung says lamely, “I don’t think I even gave them the date. Or the address.”

“Speaking of names,” Yoongi remembers suddenly, “I talked to a guy wearing a pumpkin as a head but he never gave me his name. Do you know who he was?”

“I don’t even think I saw a guy wearing a pumpkin,” Taehyung says, rolling back on his belly. “Or maybe I did? I don’t know. I feel like this is something I’d remember.”

Yoongi deflates a little, worrying at his lip. He had liked the guy. He’d been funny in a dry sort of way, kind of surprisingly insightful at times. It had sort of sucked, when his friend had dragged him away.

“Oh,” Taehyung says then, noticing Yoongi’s prolonged silence, “are we having a Cinderella situation?”

“A what?”

“Did the damsel disappear at midnight before you could get his name?”

Yoongi wacks Taehyung in the head with a pillow, but all in all he’s right. It kind of felt like that. Except that instead of coming in a pumpkin carriage, he was wearing one. As a head.

“Fuck off,” he drawls, “I think he left earlier than midnight too.”

“Well that sucks,” Taehyung says. “Just ask Namjoon. He might know, ‘twas his party after all.”

“That would make sense. I will if I ever manage to get out of bed ever again.”

“That bad, uh?”

Yoongi just nods, the pounding behind his eyelids intensifying with each words that leaves his mouth. If he tries to move the room starts moving with him and it does nothing great for whatever is still rolling in his stomach. He hears the shift of blankets, feels Taehyung’s weight leaving the mattress and a few minutes later a cold glass of water is pressed against his face, Taehyung offering him aspirin when he opens his eyes.

“Maybe that’s why Jimin is marrying you.”

“This and my huge peen,” Taehyung says as Yoongi downs his glass.

“I regret every word.”

Taehyung laughs, something mercifully subdued and Yoongi groans as he sits up, running a hand through his hair to flatten the mess. He thinks back on the last night and it had been fun, it had, even after Cinderella had gone; the feel of the place, the people they had met, it had felt like those carefree university parties he hadn’t attended enough of and he had needed it, he realizes, he had needed to forget himself for a little while.

When he musters enough energy to actually move they trudge to the kitchen where they find Namjoon seated at the table, pouring warm milk on his cereals as some classical music piece plays in the background. Yoongi stares.

“What?” Namjoon asks.

“You’re pouring warm milk on your cereals.”

“I am,” Namjoon says, leaning back to put the pot back on the stove in one fluid motion.

“But why?” Yoongi asks, distressed.

“Because that’s how I like it.”

“But it’s gross.”

“You don’t know that. Just try, you might like it.”

“Yeah and I might like cocaine but do you see me trying?”

“Maybe you should,” Taehyung says, pouring coffee into two mugs, one of which he slides to Yoongi once he sits down. “Maybe it would take that stick outta your butt.”

“I do not have a stick up my butt.”

“You do,” Namjoon says, “you’re judging me because I like warm milk on my cereals.”

“Me and the rest of the world,” Yoongi grumbles, wetting his lips in the coffee.

When it doesn’t burn him he takes a hearty gulp, hoping for his head to clear. It doesn’t. Taehyung sits opposite him, grabbing at the plate of toasts resting in the middle of the table. It’s quiet for a bit, save for the occasional yawn. Yoongi always liked mornings at Namjoon’s place, his kitchen messy yet homey, Namjoon’s quiet presence and the smell of coffee. It’s so different from his own apartment, his stark, empty kitchen and the noises from the street right outside spilling in with the grey light of rainy days. He should visit more often, Yoongi thinks, he should, and he wonders how long it has been since they haven’t met altogether like this, a wistful nostalgia unfurling in his stomach, souring the toasts.

“Oh, Namjoon,” Taehyung is saying then, effectively interrupting his thoughts. “Pretty boy here had something to ask.”

“I did?” Yoongi asks, Namjoon turning to him with a curious look.

“Cinderella,” Taehyung mouths, and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he waves Namjoon off, Taehyung kicking him under the table. Somehow, now that it’s about to be out in the open, Yoongi doesn’t really want to know who pumpkin boy actually was. It would make him real, and real people come with all sort of luggage Yoongi never knows how to deal with.

“Pumpkin boy at the party,” Taehyung is saying before Yoongi can steam roll over him, “who was he?”

“Pumpkin boy?”

“He came in with the dinosaur. You know, the guy with the pumpkin as a head.”

“Oh,” Namjoon beams, “that was Hyunwoo’s friend, Yoo Kihyun. You know, from high school. We talked about him last time.”

The room spins, and this time it’s not because of the alcohol. Pumpkin boy is Yoo Kihyun and Yoo Kihyun’s luggage must contain Yoongi himself. Yoongi feels like whacking his head against the table, and a glance at Taehyung, staring at him with wide eyes, tells him it shows.

“Why?” Namjoon is asking, blissfully ignorant of the turmoil currently rolling in Yoongi’s head. “You guys hit it off?”

Yoongi makes a sounds between a gasp and a groan, Namjoon’s brow furrowing.

“Namjoon,” Taehyung asks hesitantly, gaze darting from him to Yoongi. “What do you remember of Kihyun in highschool?”

Namjoon’s spoon clinks against his bowl as he sets it down, staring at Taehyung. He must sense something is askew, his voice hesitant when he speaks.

“Not much, to be honest? I was kinda out of it back then. He was quiet, I guess. Didn’t have many friends.”

“Didn’t have _any_ friends,” Taehyung answers, and Yoongi suddenly wants him to stop. “Dude, he was bullied mercilessly. Like, if I was him I’d have stopped coming to school. He had it bad.”

There’s a silence, Namjoon looking crestfallen, gaze darting from Yoongi to Taehyung.

“Did you guys – did we do it too?”

“Not really,” Taehyung shrugs, picking at his toast. “We went along with it, though. No one stood up for him. I thought he’d hate our guts honestly, I’m surprised he talked to you,” he says then, looking up at Yoongi.

“I don’t think he remembers me,” Yoongi says lamely, and it’s when he hears it aloud that he realizes how stupid it sounds. Of course Kihyun remembers him, how could he forget? _I don’t know why you’d talk to me_ , Kihyun had asked, and it takes on a whole new meaning now, now that Yoongi knows. So does the quiet Kihyun had withdrawn into as the night wore on, so does his abrupt leaving, so does him pretending not to hear, when Yoongi had asked for his name.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Yoongi says then, “if there’s a guy dressed as a pumpkin of course it would be the guy owning the pumpkin farm.”

“So it’s more Romeo and Juliet than Cinderella then,” Taehyung remarks, and Yoongi’s gaze snaps to him.

“Seriously?”

“Sorry,” Taehyung says. “It’s just. You’re really cursed, aren’t you? The one time you meet a guy you like, turns out it’s your victim from high school.”

“He wasn’t my victim.”

“He was everyone’s victim. One time you barrelled into him while running after me, he fell, and you laughed at him.”

“It doesn’t sound that bad,” Yoongi croaks, an ugly feeling rising in his stomach.

“He fell into a puddle. Him and all his textbooks. We didn’t even help him up.”

“I wanna die,” Yoongi whines, leaning his head against the cool wood of the table.

“You like him?” Namjoon pipes up, the only information apparently worth retaining from the whole spiel.

“No,” Yoongi says, rising his head way too fast for the headache he’s still nursing. “I just. We talked last night and I thought it was nice. He was interesting. I had a good time.”

Namjoon nods, twirling his spoon in his bowl.

“He comes by the shop sometimes, with his cousin, and Hyunwoo,” he says, a bit miserably. “He’s nice. He never talked to me about high school.”

“He probably wants to forget the whole thing even happened, to be honest,” Taehyung says, finishing to rip apart his toast.

“Why are teenagers so fucking awful?” Yoongi moans from his newfound nest of misery. “Why couldn’t I have been a decent one?”

“You didn’t wanna be next,” Taehyung says. “Better him than me, this type of thinking, you know.”

“I feel like shit. How didn’t I feel bad at the time? Am I a monster?”

Taehyung shrugs, organizing the remains of his toast in a little pile at the centre of his plate.

“I don’t think you realize, at the time, how awful it fucking is.”

 _But you do_ , Yoongi wants to say, _we were there, we saw everything, we knew and we did nothing_.

Yoongi had heard Kihyun cry, once. The kid had locked himself in the bathroom on the third floor, the one no one really used, too out of the way. Yoongi had seen him go in, had followed for a reason that escapes him now; maybe he had had something to say, maybe he’d wanted to try. But Kihyun had locked himself in a cubicle and Yoongi had heard the wrecked sobs that followed. So he had stood outside, just in case, scaring off a bunch of first years so that Kihyun could remain alone, he had stayed until he had heard the lock click open, the water run. He’d ran away then, shame and guilt twisting in his belly, and Taehyung’s right; he hadn’t wanted it to be him, and he’d known, he’d known that the day he stood up for Kihyun was the day he’d become a pariah too. And so when he had bumped into him, when Kihyun had lost his balance and fell with a splash, he’d forced a laugh out and hadn’t helped him up.

Quiet, mousy Kihyun, with his smart glasses and pressed uniform, dark hair slicked back and full mouth set in a constant frown. Kihyun walking quickly down the corridors, hugging the walls, dodging mean stares and harsh words alike. Kihyun leaning at the window, his arm on the sill and his cheek on his arm, looking down at the dusty playing field, summer heat bearing down on him, sun shining in his dark hair. He’d watched him, Yoongi realizes then, he’d watched Kihyun everyday for a whole year, had listened to him cry and had wished he wasn’t such a coward, guilt and shame and something else twisting in his stomach, something he hadn’t recognized then, something he feared now.

“I need to talk to him,” Yoongi says then, Namjoon and Taehyung’s stare bearing down on him. “I need to talk to him and tell him I’m sorry.”

“What good would that do?” Taehyung asks, his voice soft, eyes full of concern.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, “but this time, this time I want to try.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been more than a month can you believe? I suck but what else is new.  
> Anyway here's another chapter!! Still don't know what I'm doing but at least I'm having fun, I hope you guys are too. Thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter you folks are extremely appreciated and I hope you know that.  
> Anyway my country is back on lockdown and I am back working from home so let's hope I find more time for writing :')  
> Thank you all for sticking with me.

**1.**

The pumpkin harvest goes faster than expected, mainly because Hyunwoo actually shows up on time, a preoccupied frown on his face Kihyun doesn’t ask about. Hyunwoo always speaks in his own time, and there’s something nice in working with him quietly side by side, finding a same rhythm – a flick of the wrist, the knives they wield separating the pumpkin from the plant before they carry them into the waiting crates they’ll charge onto the truck later on. Kihyun has no thoughts to spare, not on last night, not on Minhyuk’s confession, not on Yoongi’s attempts at friendship. The morning is bright, the crisp air filling his lungs and it seems like a good day, it does, even the couple of wilted plants they find do not hamper his newfound optimism.

Jooheon and Changkyun arrive when the harvest is already mostly done, shuffling their feet and squinting in the sunlight. Kihyun leaves them to charge the crates on the pick-up, leaning with Hyunwoo against a nearby fence.

“Thanks for coming,” Kihyun tells him as he settles, stretching his sore muscles.

“No problem. I didn’t drink that much last night anyway.”

Kihyun hums, watching as Changkyun drops a pumpkin on his foot, making a show of hopping around as Jooheon fawns over him.

“They’re useless at farming,” Kihyun remarks absently, Hyunwoo chuckling.

“They do their best.”

“You’re too nice,” Kihyun answers, “one day someone will take advantage of you.”

“Like you, you mean?” Hyunwoo asks, “like how I was supposed to stay here just to write my thesis and then you roped me into pumpkin duty?”

Kihyun shoves him lightly at that, laughing.

“You roped yourself into it ‘cause you fancy my farmhand. I have nothing to do with this.”

Hyunwoo falls quiet then, humming in agreement under his breath, gaze lost. Kihyun understands that he has reached a sore spot, and almost apologizes before thinking better of it. He leans closer to Hyunwoo instead, letting out a sigh, staring as Changkyun and Jooheon have resumed their work, singing a nonsensical song about pumpkin men they probably made up at the top of their lungs.

“Last night,” Hyunwoo eventually says, not looking at Kihyun, gaze stuck straight ahead. “Last night I told Hoseok I liked him. More than as just a friend, I mean.”

Kihyun remains silent, drawing patterns in the earth before him with the point of his boot, listening.

“Hoseok laughed. He said I was drunk, that I didn’t know what I was saying. But I wasn’t drunk. I know what I said.”

“You should tell him again,” Kihyun says, finally looking up at Hyunwoo, seeing the downturned corners of his lips, the dim light in his eyes. “Just tell him until he believes you.”

“Why doesn’t he believe me now?”

Kihyun shrugs, erasing his drawing with the sole of his shoe, raising a little dust.

“You’re a smarty pants from the big city here to write his groundbreaking thesis on important literature stuff. If I was Hoseok I’d wonder why the heck you fancy me for too. He worked straight after high-school, he never lived anywhere else. I don’t think he understands what a guy like you sees in a guy like him. I think he’s afraid you’re just using him.”

Hyunwoo hums softly, Kihyun’s words seemingly deepening the frown that has settled on his features, darkening the sad glint in his eyes.

“There is a lot to see in a guy like him,” he says eventually, and Kihyun laughs.

“There is. And he needs to know that. So just tell him.”

“It seems so simple when you say it,” Hyunwoo remarks and Kihyun sighs, leaning back against the fence, lifting his eyes to the sky where sparrows are darting here and there. They need to get the bird feeders out, he notes, before winter comes.

“Because it is simple. Hoseok likes you too, I think. He just needs reassurance you’re not fucking with him cause you want in his pants.”

“I do want in his pants, though,” Hyunwoo says with the utmost seriousness in his face and Kihyun guffaws, shoving him again.

“I sure hope so, have you seen the guy? That’s one hell of a man right there. Just tell him you’re serious. He’ll believe you if you’re earnest.”

“I am,” Hyunwoo says, a small smile making its way onto his plump lips.

“Good, then,” Kihyun says, pushing off the fence and wiping his hands on his pants. Changkyun and Jooheon have loaded all the pumpkins, already climbing back into the truck. Their reseller will come early in the afternoon to take a good part of the harvest off their hands. The rest they keep for the local market where they hold a stall, Jooheon and Hoseok using enough dimpled smiles and handsome laughs to charm half the region. Sometimes Kihyun joins them, especially around October when the demand is higher, and it’s a nice change from being cooped up on the farm.

“I’m going down to the library later,” Hyunwoo is saying as Jooheon is taking a turn in the road a bit too fast, Changkyun shrieking at the back of the truck. Kihyun is mushed in the middle of the seat, Hyunwoo practically melted against the door. “Wanna join?”

“Sure,” Kihyun shrugs. It’s been a while since he hasn’t visited the little shop, and he had few occasions to speak with Namjoon back at the party. He thinks he should at least tell the guy he had fun, even if it’s not entirely true. Yoongi’s laugh and Yoongi’s eyes on him surface at the back of his mind and a sinking feeling gnaws at him. It must show in his face, too, Hyunwoo raising an eyebrow at him. Kihyun forces his gaze back to the path with an awkward smile, staring at the familiar sights he loves, at the farm that enabled him to become who he is now; the little Kihyun he was back then is truly lost, truly buried, yet Kihyun wishes his grave had been deeper, Kihyun wishes a simple look from someone he used to know didn’t shake the loose earth.

They find Hyungwon in the kitchen, munching on cereals as he scrolls listlessly on his phone.

“What’s up?” he asks between two bites as Changkyun and Jooheon fall into adjacent chairs opposite him, dragging the cereals to them to eat straight from the box. Hyunwoo goes for the coffee, warming the pot to pour a mug for Kihyun and himself. Kihyun sits at the head of the table, closing his eyes as he lets the smell of coffee smother his senses, the mug Hyunwoo handed him clutched in his hands to warm them up. He can already feel the soreness that will be here tomorrow in the muscles of his back, in the softly aching pull of his arms.

“We’re going to the library later,” Kihyun says, “wanna come with?”

“I’m good,” Hyungwon says, mouth full, over the obnoxious crunching noises Changkyun is making. “Minhyuk said he’d help me repair the old motorcycle.”

“He knows mechanics?” Hyunwoo asks, an eyebrow raised.

“No,” Hyungwon says, “neither do I.”

“Maybe you should ask Hoseok,” Kihyun ventures, already trying to remember where he left the first aid kit.

“Yeah, that’s what Minhyuk is doing. I think that’s what he meant by helping me.”

Hyunwoo snorts into his coffee, covering it up with a fake cough and Kihyun shakes his head, taking a nicely bitter sip. The old motorcycle was his father’s, and it had sat neglected in the barn for over a decade. Hyungwon had been obsessed with it ever since he had set foot on the farm, despite how rusty it was. Getting it up and running again had become sort of a pet project of his and Minhyuk had naturally fallen in with him. And now they were dragging Hoseok into it too, the guy too nice to refuse them anything.

“Should we just go when we finish this, then?” Hyunwoo asks him, raising his coffee cup and Kihyun acquiesce, stretching lazily before he goes to change his clothes into something less muddy.

The drive to the library is a short and pleasant one, the day proving to be clear and sunny, the air crisp and sweet. The only radio station the old car Kihyun uses for errands agrees to play is blaring old songs Kihyun knows by heart and he sings them softly under his breath, Hyunwoo joining him at the chorus, drumming a rhythm against his thigh. They manage to park right next to the library, the shop’s bell jingling cheerfully as they enter. Namjoon is slumped behind the counter, a book opened in his hands and he smiles as he sees them, closing his book without marking the page.

“Hi,” he greets, and Hyunwoo falls into easy conversation with him, Kihyun idling on the sidelines, thumbing at the books on the shelves. A small volume catches his eyes and he pulls it off the shelf, thumbing at the pages; it’s a funny little story about a magic bicycle and Kihyun sort of loses time, reading one page after another, delighted at the pencil drawings and the witty phrasing. It’s only when he hears an awkward cough that he looks up to find Namjoon hovering near him with a tight smile on his lips, looking between him and the book he holds.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes?” Kihyun answers, staring at Namjoon, his fidgeting putting him slightly on edge. Namjoon has always been awkward, but this is reaching new heights, and Kihyun glances nervously around to see if Hyunwoo might come rescue him, but the man is nowhere to be seen.

“Good. I like it too,” Namjoon is saying, “there’s a whole bunch of them. They’re supposedly for children but they’re so strange. The drawings are great.”

“They are,” Kihyun says, waiting for Namjoon to elaborate as there is obviously something else on his mind, something that makes him alternate between nervous smiles and concerned stares.

“Is something the matter?” Kihyun ends up asking when nothing seems to come forth, and Namjoon laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head.

“Well, nothing, really. I just. It’s come to my attention that, ah, how to say it?” Namjoon asks as if Kihyun had an answer to give instead of just staring helplessly, slowly closing the book in his hands to place it back on the shelf. Namjoon watches him do it, eyes on his hand when he starts talking again.

“Okay, well, you know, I’m just gonna say it,” Namjoon starts, still staring at Kihyun’s lithe fingers. “I heard that you had troubles in high school,” he says hesitantly and Kihyun freezes, wide eyes trained on him. As Namjoon opens his mouth to add more Kihyun instantly wishes he would shut up, a forgotten feeling of humiliation crawling back from the pit of his stomach, his face turning pale. He darts his eyes around, wishing Hyunwoo would appear, put a stop to this somehow.

“And, you know,” Namjoon continues, “I never really paid attention back then, and I didn’t notice, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Kihyun croaks out, and he sees Hyunwoo emerge at the end of the shelf, a stack of books in his arms. Kihyun stops short of waving him over, but the distress in his eyes must be obvious enough that Hyunwoo hurries to his side, yet not fast enough that Namjoon cannot add to his awkward apology.

“Yeah, I’m sorry this was going on. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.”

“It’s fine, really,” Kihyun waves him off and he can feel the tense smile plastered to his lips, pulling at his cheeks; he wonders what kind of face he’s making now, if the tension in his muscles, the dread in his stomach is spilling over his features. Hyunwoo finally joins them and Kihyun latches onto him, pulling the first book off the stack in his arms and eagerly reading the title despite none of the words registering.

“Hyunwoo!” He says a little too loud, “did you find what you were looking for?”

Hyunwoo nods gingerly, gaze flitting questioningly between him and Namjoon and Kihyun is this close to just drag him out of here, a hand already on his arm, when there’s a tumble of footsteps down the stairs leading to Namjoon’s apartment, loud voices hashing out an old argument.

“Namjoon!” Someone’s yelling, and Kihyun’s grip on Hyunwoo’s arm turns to iron. “Taehyung here keeps saying that you – oh, hi Kihyun.”

 _Hi Kihyun?_ Kihyun thinks, turning slowly, _since when are we on a ‘hi Kihyun’ basis?_

His gaze lands on Yoongi standing there, looking as bewildered as Kihyun feels, Taehyung stopping short of barrelling into him. _I should have known,_ Kihyun thinks then. _The day had started_ _a little_ _too well_. He stares, only realizing how long it’s been when Hyunwoo shifts beside him, removing his hand from his arm, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts. Kihyun wishes he still had a pumpkin for a head. Kihyun wishes he was setting the barn of fire trying to repair a rusty motorcycle, he wishes he was uprooting rotting pumpkins, anything but this. He can feel his face heat up, and the dumb look Yoongi is giving him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, is not helping his case.

“It’s been a while,” Taehyung says then, swallowing visibly, eyes darting from Yoongi to him, “how have you been?”

“How have I been?” Kihyun croaks, and he realizes then that he feels like hitting Taehyung, or Yoongi, or both. The humiliation he’d felt at Namjoon’s awkward apology flares up again, burning red hot in his stomach and he cannot look at them anymore yet he is rooted in place, the door of the shop seemingly unattainable, caged in as he is between Hyunwoo’s tall frame and the book shelf. There’s a breath stuck in his throat, something too much like panic choking him and he’s about to curl up on himself when there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, dragging him a few feet back, Hyunwoo tucking him into his side.

“We’ve been good,” he’s saying, all smiles and crinkling eyes and both Yoongi and Taehyung look to him as if they hadn’t noticed him until now. “The farm is going well, despite the root rot we’ve been experiencing,” Hyunwoo continues as if he’s talking about the weather and if Kihyun focuses on his voice it’s not so bad, if he looks at his profile maybe he can breath again.

“Speaking of,” he says, turning to Kihyun, “we should go back, there’s a lot to do.”

“Ah, yeah,” Kihyun manages to wheeze out before he’s whisked away, Hyunwoo putting his stack of books on the counter as he tells Namjoon to keep them for him. Kihyun hears the sound of the bell, the chill air knocking into him as they step outside and it’s easier now, it is, there is the empty street and their banged-up car and the wide, cloudless sky.

“Are you alright?” Hyunwoo is asking him somewhere to his right and Kihyun forces himself to look up at him, trying out a smile that comes out as a wince.

“I am now,” he says, trudging to the car and he sits on the passenger’s side, Hyunwoo grabbing the keys from him as he folds his tall frame into the vehicle, banging the door close.

“Who were they?”

“Guys I knew from high school,” Kihyun says lamely, not quick enough to come up with a story.

“I take it you weren’t exactly friends?”

Kihyun laughs at that, shaking his head, and some of the tension he’d held inside him thaws away.

“No, not exactly. Let’s say high school wasn’t the best of times for me. And they were – they were just there. Sorry, it’s nothing,” Kihyun says, nervous fingers playing with the buttons of the radio. “I just didn’t expect them to be here. It brought back old memories.”

Kihyun glances at Hyunwoo and the man is frowning, gaze steady on the shop’s windows through the windshield. He looks a bit scary like this, Kihyun suddenly realizes, brows furrowed and jaw working.

“Do I need to keep an eye out?” Hyunwoo asks then, echoing Hoseok’s earlier words and Kihyun bursts out laughing, wondering what did he do right to end up with a bunch of tall men all wanting to beat up people for him, or loom threateningly at the very least.

“No,” he says, wiping his eyes, “I’m fine. I’ll get over it. It just took me by surprise.”

“Okay,” Hyunwoo says as he turns on the engine, looking utterly unconvinced. He backtracks out of their spot, sparing one last glare to the library before turning onto the main road. Kihyun gets the radio working and opens a window to feel the cold wind against his face, mussing up his hair. He thinks back on Yoongi’s face, the surprise he’d found there, surprise and something else, guilt maybe, or a shyness that didn’t use to be. He shrugs, closing his eyes against the sting of the wind.

He has changed, he keeps repeating himself, he’s not who he was back in high school anymore, yet one look at Taehyung and Yoongi had sufficed to drudge up these old feelings, this old pain, the memories of humiliation still vivid in his mind. And he wonders if it will always be like this, if he’ll ever manage to get over it just as he had so easily tell Hyunwoo he would. Maybe it doesn’t matter, for now. Yoongi will leave soon, and Kihyun will never have to see him again. The thought stings, Kihyun realizes, stings as if he’d missed him, and Kihyun opens his mouth to yell over the song on the radio, drowning his thoughts with loudness.

  
  


**2.**

The silence hangs heavy in the library after the door closes on Kihyun. Taehyung fidgets, gaze darting between Namjoon and Yoongi and the latter almost snaps at him, his skin too tight, a bad taste in his mouth.

“Well,” Taehyung ventures when no one says a word, “that was uncomfortable to say the least.”

“Oh god,” Yoongi suddenly sinks on his haunches, burying his face in his hands. “I went with ‘hi Kihyun’ like the cretin that I am. What was he supposed to say to that? I never even said hi to him back when we shared a classroom for a whole year.”

“Yeah, that was a bit painful,” Taehyung admits, patting Yoongi’s hair in what he must think is a comforting gesture, only managing to annoy him further. But Yoongi doesn’t move, doesn’t slap his hand away. Kihyun’s face is stuck in his mind; his wide eyes, his parted lips. He’d been scared, Yoongi realizes, scared because of him, of his sudden appearance and his awkward greeting. And it hurts, it does, a sadness spilling in his chest, wringing his heart.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Namjoon ventures, and both Taehyung and Yoongi stare, eyebrows raised.

“Really?” Taehyung says pointedly, Namjoon looking sheepishly down at his feet.

“Okay, maybe it was,” he mumbles, a high-pitched whine coming from Yoongi. “But Hyunwoo smoothed things over, I think. It could have been worse.”

Yoongi lets his hands fall away from his face, looking up at Namjoon. He had forgotten about Hyunwoo. He had forgotten about the tall, handsome man who had pulled Kihyun behind him with a hand on his shoulder as if to protect him, who had dragged him outside when it was getting too much. Who had known, without Kihyun saying anything, exactly what he needed.

“Are they dating?” he blurts out, Taehyung’s gaze snapping back to him as Namjoon’s eyes widen.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon says carefully, “I don’t think so. But they’re together a lot, so then again, maybe.”

“You don’t have to coddle me,” Yoongi says bleakly, staring at Namjoon’s scuffed shoes.

“I think I do,” Namjoon retorts, looking down at Yoongi’s slumped form, his defeated stare and downturned mouth.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Yoongi asks the shoes. It’s Taehyung who answers hesitantly, crouching to his level.

“I think you should drop it, buddy. Like, he obviously isn’t wild about being in your presence.”

“He did, though,” Yoongi says then, “at the party, he did. He was funny and clever and I made him laugh and–”

”And he knew that you didn’t know who he was, and so it was easy,” Taehyung cuts him off and Yoongi stares, mouth slightly agape.

And Taehyung’s right, he knows then; the party had been a glimpse into a parallel universe, one where they were two perfect strangers and the weight of the what-ifs, of the what-could-have-been seems to ground Yoongi further down into the floor. It’s a terrible thing to know what he has already wrecked, what was already doomed from the start. It’s a terrible thing to realize that the person Kihyun has become, the person he already was back then is one Yoongi likes, one he wishes to know, one he isn’t willing to let go of, not yet, not now that he knows what he sounds like when he laughs, when he speaks freely, when he lets himself be.

Yoongi groans into his hands, a frustrated noise that has Namjoon sigh and Taehyung chuckle.

“You took him by surprise,” Namjoon is saying, magnanimous. “Maybe next time you can be more gentle about it.”

“And no ‘hi Kihyun’ for fuck’s sakes,” Taehyung adds and Yoongi snorts, something choked behind his hands, rising unsteadily to his feet.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, Taehyung patting his shoulder in commiseration.

The encounter leaves Yoongi with an unpleasant feeling for the rest of the day, right up until Taehyung drags him to the train station to wait for Jimin. They sit side by side on a bench, staring at the train tracks, at the few people milling about. They’re way too early, Taehyung fidgeting next to Yoongi, gaze constantly flitting to the big old-school clock hanging above the platform. It’s almost like he’s vibrating, and Yoongi wonders if he’ll ever be able to feel like this for anyone, full of a simple joy at an anticipated reunion. The cold has them sit close together, Yoongi pulling down the hood from his jacket and he’s reminded of the last time he’d sat there, waiting for the train that would take him away for good, off to a city he didn’t know yet, to a life he had dreamed of during the long hours spent staring out the window of their little classroom.

He wonders now, had he known what it would be like, if he would have been so impatient to leave. If he would have thought these days spent running along with bright, laughing friends, spent struggling in too-lit classrooms and loud arcades were only transitory, something to do as he waited for something better, something bigger to come along. It wasn’t so terrible, now that he thinks about it, and he misses the wild insouciance, the intensity of these lost days where all was felt too intensely, where everything was in sharp relief, in bright colours.

And the grim feeling that had slowly grown in his lungs blooms in a sharp pang; for every one of this memory is built on Kihyun’s misery. If they were allowed to be so carefree, if they were allowed to run so wild was because they’d wistfully ignored all that was going on around them, because they had taken part in it, choosing to blend in rather than take a stand. He’d been selfish, and now he had seen the aftermath in Kihyun’s dark eyes.

“What’s with the face?” Taehyung asks, bumping Yoongi’s shoulder, effectively breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Nothing, sorry.”

“Are you still thinking of your man-crush?”

“No.”

“You are,” Taehyung says in a sigh, stretching his long legs before him. He’s wearing ridiculous winter pants with a hideous pattern on it, yet still manages to pull them off somehow. _We’re not all created equal_ , Yoongi thinks bitterly, curling in a bit more on himself against the breeze that had arose as they waited.

“You’re brooding,” Taehyung says in a stupid voice, “you’re bitterly brooding on a bench,” he continues, annoyingly poking Yoongi in the side.

“Are you making bad alliterations out of my misery?”

“Yes,” Taehyung says, putting his hand back in his pocket and glancing at the clock, “yes I am.”

“I want a new friend,” Yoongi sighs, burrowing against Taehyung’s side in hope that his tall frame will shield him from the wind.

“Your warranty expired. You can’t return me to the store anymore.”

Yoongi laughs, trying and failing to pinch Taehyung without taking his hand out of his pocket.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” he says then, because it’s true. One day Taehyung was sixteen, smiling brightly under the summer sun, scrapped elbows and too long hair and the next he was trying on smart suits to go get married in a fancy hall.

“Fake married,” Taehyung corrects, “it’s still not legal here.”

“Hoseok is ordained, though,” Yoongi says, looking up at Taehyung’s profile.

“Yeah, from a weird American website. His certificate is a print-out. There’s nothing legit about this.”

There is a silence before Yoongi snorts, and they both start to snicker, leaning into each other on the small bench.

“As long as it’s real in your hearts,” Yoongi says in a sing-song voice and Taehyung shoves him, inducing an impromptu play-fight that ends with the unmistakable sound of a train coming down the tracks. Taehyung freezes, pushing Yoongi off him with a victory cry as he rises to his feet, jogging to the platform where he hops in place to keep warm, the train appearing at the turn in the track, slowing it’s pace until it comes to a stop in the little station.

Only a few people get off, Yoongi watching as Taehyung rises on his tip-toes to scan his surroundings, breaking into a sprint when he finally spots who he’s looking for – Jimin, standing at the far end of the platform, bundled in too many layers for the still gentle weather, and he waves when he spots Taehyung running towards him. Yoongi can only imagine the smile on his face before he is engulfed in a bear hug, Taehyung lifting him off the ground before putting him back down, keeping an arm around his shoulders as he stirs him towards Yoongi who finally decides to get off the bench.

“Welcome back to the ass-end of nowhere,” he says when Jimin is within earshot, the kid tugging on his scarf to free his mouth.

“It hasn’t changed,” Jimin says, “way less cold than I remember though, I’m sweating like a glassblower’s arse in all these layers.”

“What?” Yoongi blurts out, a bit stunned, Jimin looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You spend way too much time with Taehyung,” Yoongi says eventually, Jimin laughing under Taehyung’s arm. “You used to be cute.”

“Oh I still am,” Jimin retorts, shrugging, “wait until you see me in my wedding suit.”

“Is it some kind of horrid patterned nonsense like the one Taehyung picked?” Yoongi asks as they start walking towards the exit, Taehyung dragging Jimin’s suitcase.

“Yes,” he says excitedly, “we match.”

“Oh god,” Yoongi groans, hailing a cab for them to pile into. The ride is short and mercifully warm, the heater blasting as strongly as the trot songs the driver’s listening to. He drops them off right in front of Namjoon’s library, the latter waiting for them inside while tidying the already spotless space.

Jimin takes up Yoongi’s spot in the spare bedroom with a profusion of apologies Yoongi waves off as he drags his mess to the sofa in the living room. Namjoon cracks open a couple of beers and disembowels a healthy amount of snacks for them to share as they gather around the coffee table, a pleasant lull falling over them as they settle in, Jimin folded against Taehyung on the sofa, Namjoon and Yoongi sitting side by side on the carpet, legs crossed and knees brushing. It’s been a while, Yoongi realizes then, that he’s been surrounded by friends, by the quiet whispers of their beloved voices and some of the quietude he had felt that morning in the kitchen finds him again, coiled in Jimin’s gentle voice, in Taehyung’s loud laughs, in Namjoon’s soft presence.

“So,” Jimin says when they bypassed the chips to go straight for the ice cream, a tub of chocolate chip cookie vanilla ice cream opened in the middle of the table, each of them armed with a spoon. “What’s the hot goss?”

“Why are you talking like that?” Yoongi asks in between bites, the ice cream melting on his tongue eliciting a shiver.

“Because I can,” Jimin retorts, spooning another bite in his mouth. “Seriously, I haven’t been back here in ages, did anything change?”

“The guy who owned the corner store and beat our asses for stealing candies back in middle school died,” Namjoon says and Taehyung wacks him with a spoon licked clean.

“Seriously, don’t you have any other pieces of news to share, you lunatic,” Taehyung says, dragging the tub towards him to shovel as much as he can into his mouth.

“Well, not really,” Namjoon says, glancing sheepishly back at Yoongi before continuing, “although Yoo Kihyun did come back here a few years back, to take care of the big farm up the road.”

“Oh word,” Jimin says, waiting patiently for his turn with the ice cream. “I meant to ask him how that was going,” he finishes as Taehyung slides the tub towards him, making him miss the way Yoongi’s gaze snaps to him, spoon held tight in whitening knuckles.

“What do you mean you meant to ask him?” Yoongi croaks, “since when are you on an asking-how’s-it-going basis with him?”

“Since like always?” Jimin answers, licking at his spoon full of vanilla instead of shoving it in his mouth like a normal person. Yoongi gapes.

“I mean, we’re not super pals,” Jimin continues, still hogging the ice cream. “But like, we used to hang out a bit since he was tutoring my brother. We sort of kept in touch after that. I don’t really know why,” Jimin shrugs, “but he’s nice, so like. Yeah.”

Yoongi stares. Taehyung stares at Yoongi, Namjoon’s gaze darting between them. It takes longer that it really should for Jimin to cope that something is going on.

“Why?” he asks, before licking a sticky stripe of melted vanilla up his wrist. Jimin has disgusting eating habits, Yoongi realizes, and is also apparently sort-of-friends with the crux of all his newfound anguish.

“I just–” Yoongi starts before interrupting himself, clearing his throat. “Did he ever tell you about us? About highschool?”

“Not really,” Jimin shrugs, “we were in different classes so it didn’t really matter anyway. I had the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t push it.”

“What was he like?” Yoongi asks then, setting his spoon down and he wonders what it is he’s looking for – a glimpse into what he had missed, maybe, a need to know who Kihyun was back then, besides the kid who would lock himself in a deserted bathroom to cry. Or something else entirely, a genuine curiosity for someone he had met at a party while they wore a pumpkin as a head.

Jimin hums, the spoon resting against his chin in a thinking gesture.

“Quiet, at first,” he says, “a little cold. And then my brother would say the dumbest shit and he’d burst out laughing and when they were finished I’d come hang out to eat the snacks my mum gave them. And we’d get to talking, and I don’t know,” Jimin shrugs then, “he was like, earnest? And kinda weirdly stupid sometimes. Just a teenager, you know. But patient. Really patient. My brother sucks at maths so much it’s worrying, but Kihyun never minded. I remember that cause he never really scolded him. Like my parents used to get really frustrated and start yelling but not him. He would just like groan, but in this funny way, and start over from the beginning. I liked him cause my brother liked him. I think it’s thanks to Kihyun if he managed the entrance exams at his uni.”

“Damn,” Taehyung says, sparing a glance at Yoongi, “he sounds like a dream, are you sure you don’t want to marry him instead?”

“It’s funny,” Jimin says, “I’m asking myself the same question. Should I tell him to come over?”

Jimin fishes for his phone, dangling it between his sticky fingers and Yoongi has to restrain himself from lunging over the table to rip it from his hands. He manages to remain seated as Taehyung takes up the banter, Namjoon beside him sneaking questioning glances at his face Yoongi ignores. His white-knuckled grip on his spoon has loosened, and Yoongi brings the ice cream tub to himself, mindlessly shoving melted sweetness into his mouth. He tries to identify the feeling nesting between his ribs, a strange mix of longing and wistfulness, and there’s regret there, too, regret for something wasted, something trampled before it could bloom.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks in a whisper, glancing at Jimin and Taehyung but they’re lost in their own little world, not paying attention to them anymore.

“Why am I so preoccupied with this?” Yoongi asks, letting his spoon fall back onto the table with a clang. Namjoon shrugs, looking down at his own hands.

“I think you’re realizing Kihyun’s a whole person with feelings and what we did, or let happen, was awful. I think you liked him at the party and it makes you feel even shittier. I think you already felt bad back then and maybe you were already curious about him, too.”

Yoongi turns wide eyes on Namjoon, who smiles sheepishly at him, eyes crinkling at the corner.

“How much thoughts did you give this?” Yoongi asks in a whisper.

“Days are long in the shop,” Namjoon answers, scooping up the half-melted ice cream to put it back in the freezer under the hearty protests of Jimin and Taehyung.

“But, you know,” Namjoon says as he comes back to sit next to Yoongi. “I don’t think you should apologize. I tried it and it felt bad, my dude. As much for him as for me.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” Yoongi asks, a little helplessly.

“Just try to get to know him. As he is now. Not through what he was back then.”

Yoongi remains silent, half-listening to the animated conversation Taehyung and Jimin are having, letting their voices bring him back to safer, warmer grounds.

“I barely have two weeks left,” he says a little helplessly, looking down at the sticky tabletop.

“Make them count, then,” Namjoon says, and the words land like smooth stones in Yoongi’s mind. He looks up, watching Jimin and Taehyung snickering with each other, Namjoon throwing a dented book at them when they get too loud, immediately getting dragged into their chaos.

And maybe he can do it, Yoongi thinks then, maybe he can salvage what little there is left, what semblance of a relationship they had. Salvage it, and mend it.

  
  


**3.**

Amazingly the barn is still standing when Kihyun and Hyunwoo make it back from the library. There is no fire, no crispy body by the door. There’s Hyungwon though, running excitedly out of the barn just as Kihyun slams the car door close.

“Hoseok managed to start it!” he’s yelling, Minhyuk on his heels, both their hair a mess, traces of grease on their faces.

“Well, at least one person here knows what they’re doing,” Kihyun says as he follows them back to the barn where Hoseok is standing next to the rusted carcass of the old motorcycle, Hyunwoo following him.

Hoseok looks up when they enter, a smile on his handsome face as he wipes his greasy hands on a kerchief.

“I think it’s gonna work,” he says, “just gotta change a couple parts, I’ll go down to the mechanics this afternoon.”

Minhyuk and Hyungwon are whispering excitedly, leaning into each other, Minhyuk grabbing the handlebars to pretend he’s riding, like an eight years old would do. Kihyun tries to pretend he doesn’t find that endearing.

“Do you guys even have a license for this thing?” he asks then, to which they answer with vigorous shakes of their heads.

“We can just drive it around the farm, it’s fine,” Minhyuk says offhandedly.

“If you wreck yourselves I won’t be held responsible,” Kihyun says as he kneels next to the motorcycle, fondly patting the fuel tank. He has warm memories of this thing; his father used to have him sit at the back when he was still a child, and they would go ride into town, Kihyun clutching his father’s waist for dear life, an excited shriek stuck in his throat as the wind whipped his face. It would be nice, to drive it again, and he rises to his feet, a soft feeling of gratefulness unfurling between his ribs.

“I’ll cover the expenses,” he says to Hoseok who’s vehement protests goes ignored as Hyungwon ropes Kihyun into an animated conversation about matching leather jackets and flaming decals.

“Is that blood?” Hyunwoo’s smooth voice interrupts them, Kihyun turning to him with wide eyes. Hyunwoo is staring at Hoseok, who’s looking down at himself with a furrow in his brow.

“No it’s n– oh wait, yeah, maybe it is.”

There’s a dark stain slowly growing on Hoseok’s jeans, and he presses his hand to his thigh, a smile on his face.

“I think I sort of accidentally stabbed myself earlier. But it’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt.”

“It doesn’t look fine,” Hyunwoo is saying, grabbing Hoseok’s wrist to pry his hand away from the wound. The stain is dark and wet where the blood has seeped through the fabric of Hoseok’s jeans, and his fingers come away red and sticky.

“Hoseok, you moron,” Kihyun is saying, “get in the car, you probably need stitches.”

“It really feels alright,” Hoseok protests, his bloody hand still held lightly in Hyunwoo’s own.

“The blood loss must be getting to his head,” Minhyuk stage-whispers to Hyungwon who snorts, Hoseok rolling his eyes as he half-heartedly lets Hyunwoo drag him outside towards the car.

“I’ll take him,” Hyunwoo says, Hoseok looking wildly back at Kihyun as if he’s expecting him to jump to his rescue. Kihyun just smiles and waves.

“How did you two clowns didn’t notice he was hurt?” he says once Hyunwoo has forced Hoseok into the car and drove back up the driveway.

“We were too focused on the motorcycle and how hot Hoseok looks fixing stuff,” Minhyuk says as Hyungwon nods next to him, widening his eyes in a sad attempt to look adorable. It sort of works, Kihyun reluctantly admits to himself, and he shakes his head, chucking his boots off as they enter the house.

Alli bounds to meet him, Kihyun burying his hands, and then his face, in his soft fur as he sinks to his knees. He hadn’t noticed how tired he actually was, keeping it together for long enough until it was safe to let go. But the fatigue is there, chasing the marrow of his bones and Kihyun presses his face down against the dog, who smells faintly of animal shampoo.

“Did someone wash the dog?” he mumbles against Alli’s fur, feeling someone skirt around him to get further down the house.

“Changkyun and Jooheon did,” Minhyuk’s voice floats down to him, “for some undecipherable reason.”

“They probably broke something,” Hyungwon adds as his footsteps follow Minhyuk’s down the corridor.

Left alone Kihyun strokes Alli’s soft fur, the dog sitting on his haunches in front of him as if waiting for Kihyun to tell him about his day. Kihyun almost does, before he shuts his mouth, realizing he wouldn’t even know how to go about it. Now that the sting of embarrassment has faded, now that the hot flare of panic has disappeared the only thing he remembers is Yoongi’s surprised face as he’d tumbled down the stairs, his wide eyes and parted mouth. He had said his name, and Kihyun hadn’t known if he would even remember him after all these years; yet he’d said his name, and it must have been the first time it had rolled off his tongue.

Kihyun wonders what would have happened if he had stayed; if Yoongi would have pretended everything was fine like Taehyung did, if he would have treated him to an unbearably awkward apology like Namjoon, if he would have done nothing instead, staying quiet and watchful. The memory of it awakens a new kind of embarrassment in Kihyun that he squashes with a groan, hiding his face in Alli’s fur. The terrible thing, the thing he doesn’t want to admit to himself, is that it had been nice to see Yoongi again. Thoughts of the party had lingered with him, Yoongi’s bright laugh and witty retorts, and it brings a soft ache between Kihyun’s ribs, something wistful tinted of regrets, spoilt by the acid taste of humiliating memories.

“Alli,” he says, “I wish I was you. You don’t have weird unfinished one-sided business with terrible high school crushes.”

The dog tilts his head to the side, listening, Kihyun’s hands buried behind his ears as he scratches him.

“I’ll never leave this farm again,” Kihyun adds, planting a kiss on Alli’s brow just as his phone starts ringing, Hoseok’s name flashing on the screen as he fishes it out of his pocket.

“What it is?” he asks gingerly, Hoseok’s bright voice coming slightly breathless through the receiver.

“I’m getting stitches.”

“Like right now? As we speak?” Kihyun shrieks a little, looking at the phone screen as if Hoseok’s face would appear there.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says with a laugh, “it’s fine, I’m under local anaesthesia.”

“Why are you calling me when someone is busy sewing your flesh back together?”

“Can you come pick us up? I’m not supposed to drive.”

Kihyun pauses long enough to put the phone on speaker, freeing his hands to keep patting Alli.

“What happened to Hyunwoo?” he asks suspiciously, hearing the sigh in Hoseok’s voice as he answers.

“He sort of fainted? Like they cut off my pants’ leg and he turned all pale and fainted. To be fair that was a lot of blood.”

“Is this a joke?” Kihyun asks, hands stilling in Alli’s fur.

“No. He’s all mortified, it’s kinda funny. Mortified and wobbly. I don’t think he should drive either.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Kihyun says, glancing at his phone. It’s barely noon, and he already feels like he lived though three full days.

“Sorry,” Hoseok says, a wince in his voice that chases any annoyance from Kihyun’s mind.

“It’s fine, I’ll come now, just text me where I can find you.”

“Sure,” Hoseok says, thanking him before he hangs up on a wince. Sometimes Kihyun wonders how everyone made it this far in life, and then he looks at himself and supposes the same is true for him, too. Things must have a way to just work themselves out sometimes, even if you’re prone to stabbing yourself.

He rises to his feet, yelling after Minhyuk to recount the story. When Minhyuk stops laughing he agrees to drop him to the hospital, Hyungwon taking the opportunity to tag along. They need to get matching jackets, apparently, and Kihyun doesn’t push the subject. He’s afraid it might involve flaming decals and a pair of skull helmets, too, and he doesn’t really want to know. They pile into the truck, Kihyun remembering why he rarely lets Minhyuk drive when the guy stalls at the end of the driveway, before taking the turn onto the main road way too fast. But it’s fine, really, Hyungwon is yelling along to the song blasting on the radio and Minhyuk has lowered the windows despite how cold it’s getting. The wind is whipping at Kihyun’s hair and it feels clean, somehow, it feels nice, crisp air in his lungs and soft sunlight on his skin.

The hospital doesn’t really deserve its name; it’s more like a small clinic, tucked a bit off the road behind a park where patients like to take strolls, sometimes, when the weather permits it. Minhyuk drops him off right at the entrance, Kihyun’s noticing the farm’s beat-up car parked a few meters away. Just as Hoseok had texted him he finds Hyunwoo right in the main lobby, seated in the plastic chairs against the wall. He doesn’t notice Kihyun until the latter drops in the chair next to him, elbowing him in the arm.

“Oh,” he says, and Kihyun has to bite back a laugh. “Hi, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kihyun said, good-humoured for once. “Kinda wished I’d seen you crack your skull against the floor though.”

“I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“No,” Kihyun says simply, cuffing his shoes against the polished floor.

“There was just so much blood. And that big gash. How did he just carry on like this?”

Kihyun shrugs, glancing at Hyunwoo, and it’s true that he’s still pale, a small sheen of sweat on his forehead, hair sticking up.

“You hurt yourself a lot working on a farm. I guess after a while you just don’t really feel it anymore.”

Hyunwoo lets his head fall back against the wall, heaving a heavy sigh.

“I was stressed. From worry. And then the gore was just too much.”

“He thought it was cute,” Kihyun says, and Hyunwoo’s gaze falls on him.

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but I could hear it in his voice.”

“He still doesn’t believe I like him,” Hyunwoo says a little dejectedly and it’s Kihyun’s turn to sigh, leaning back in his chair. They’re stuck so close together he has no choice but to lean against Hyunwoo as well, who doesn’t seem to mind.

“Did you tell him again?”

“Sort of, in the car. He laughed it off.”

“To be fair he was probably delirious from blood loss.”

“He didn’t lose _that_ much blood.”

Kihyun shrugs, smiling up at the ceiling.

“Just tell him again.”

“Until he believes it?”

“Yeah, until he believes it. Then you can ask for a proper answer.”

“What if it’s no?”

“Then we get drunk and go crash the motorcycle.”

“Alright,” Hyunwoo says and when Kihyun looks at him he’s smiling, faded colours returning to his face, eyes half-closed. Kihyun always liked Hyunwoo’s soft presence, his gentleness and patience. From the first day he had stepped on the farm, a bit awkward, a bit embarrassed, a too tall boy from the city who didn’t know the first thing about farming. Yet Hyunwoo had wished to learn, and he had applied himself with a dedication that had paid off. Kihyun will never tell him that he doesn’t really want him to finish writing his thesis, that he doesn’t want him to go back and be whatever he’s meant to be. It would be selfish, yet Kihyun already knows how much he’ll miss him, once he’s gone.

“Kihyun?” a hesitant voice breaks him from his thoughts and Kihyun brings his gaze back down, only to find himself staring right at Yoongi, who’s looking as bewildered as he did back in the library.

“Are you stalking me?” Kihyun blurts, wincing as Yoongi’s expression shifts to a trapped stare.

“I’m not?” he says, almost like a question. “Namjoon stabbed himself while making lunch and I just, I drove him here.”

Yoongi is pointing over his shoulder to the reception where Namjoon is talking with a nurse, a bloodied arm folded against his chest.

“He must never meet Hoseok,” Hyunwoo is saying, “they’ll probably manage to accidentally kill someone. Or themselves.”

Kihyun snorts, Yoongi looking between him and Hyunwoo with increased confusion. And Kihyun realizes with a jolt that he’s not embarrassed, that he doesn’t even wish to hide. Hyunwoo’s warm and solid beside him and he’s too tired for this kind of feelings anyway, the exhaustion from the harvest, the dread of the library meeting, the worry over Hoseok mixing all together in a slightly crazed turmoil pushing something hysterical against his ribs. Kihyun giggles again and Yoongi looks increasingly like a deer caught in headlights, which is a bit funny in itself. It’s like their places have been switched.

“Are you– are you hurt?” Yoongi is asking and Kihyun tilts his head, considering him. It almost looks like the guy is worried, glances flitting between him and Hyunwoo’s tall frame, landing on Kihyun’s hands rather than his face.

“I’m not,” Kihyun says, and it’s easy to talk when Yoongi isn’t looking at him. “We’re waiting for a friend.”

And Kihyun wants to laughs, he really does. It’s both too mundane and too absurd, Yoongi standing there before him, asking after himself when until this morning Kihyun wasn’t even sure if Yoongi actually knew his name. And maybe Yoongi feels the strangeness of the situation the same way – his gaze darts back to Namjoon, who’s waving to him as he disappears down the corridor after the nurse, and he’s shifting uneasily from foot to foot before looking back at Kihyun. There’s a smile growing on Kihyun’s lips, something almost giddy he has no control over and Yoongi seems to shrink on himself as Kihyun leans forward, half sprawling in Hyunwoo’s space.

“How have you been?” he asks, an echo of Taehyung’s question this morning and Yoongi’s eyes widen, a red tinged spilling on his cheeks. Kihyun feels Hyunwoo shift next to him, his weight leaning against his own as he carefully watches Yoongi through heavy-lidded eyes and maybe that’s where Kihyun’s newfound confidence is coming from; he has people on his side, this time, and Yoongi is just one man, one he hasn’t seen in years, one he could forget if he really wished to.

“I’ve been – I’ve been good,” Yoongi tries, licking his lips. “How’s the… the root rot?”

“We don’t ask people about their root rot around here,” Kihyun deadpans and the blush on Yoongi’s cheeks deepens, Kihyun realizing with growing horror how endearing it makes him look.

In high school Yoongi had seemed unattainable, far too removed from Kihyun’s world for him to even look upon his golden shine; but here under the fluorescent lights of the clinic, shuffling his feet as he stammers, Kihyun realizes how ordinary Yoongi really is, neither a threat nor a daydream. And something delicate unfurls between his ribs, something terrible that wilts the words in his throat – and he remembers how Yoongi had looked, sometimes, when he gazed through their classroom windows, a wistfulness on his face that had made him seem older, some hidden depths about him Kihyun had wished to tread.

And Kihyun’s not so giddy anymore, sitting back in his chair, seeking to lean further into Hyunwoo’s space as if to hide; Yoongi’s still dangerous after all, a different kind of danger Kihyun doesn’t want to acknowledge, not yet, not now when everything’s better, when he’s left it all behind, all these years of anguish and self-hatred.

“Sorry,” Yoongi is saying, Hyunwoo waving him off good-naturedly and it’s Kihyun that Yoongi’s looking at when he answers. There’s something almost pleading in his gaze, something tentative that reaches the vulnerable part of Kihyun, the one that had wanted to be acknowledged, that had wanted so hard to be liked. Yet Yoongi had pushed him in a puddle and had laughed, leaving him there to run after Taehyung. Kihyun had spent that evening trying to salvage his textbooks with absorbent paper and a hairdryer. Their pages had remained crisped and wrinkled for the rest of the year, a constant reminder that Yoongi never cared, that no one did, that he was just there to be pushed around.

There’s a soft pressure on his thigh and Kihyun looks down at Hyunwoo’s hand, strong fingers digging softly into his flesh to ground him there and Hyunwoo always knows, Kihyun realizes, he always knows what to do and Kihyun looks up to him, Hyunwoo sparing him a warm smile before digging back into his conversation with Yoongi, dragging Yoongi’s attention away from Kihyun. Kihyun leans further against Hyunwoo’s side then, stealing warmth and the solid feel of his simple presence. Yoongi keeps darting glances to him that Kihyun wilfully ignores, instead counting the tiles on the floor, letting Hyunwoo’s polite voice weave around him in a familiar pattern.

Kihyun’s up to thirty-two tiles when Hoseok’s cheerful voice reaches them, and Kihyun straightens up on his chair to see him limp towards them, smiling, looking as fresh as he did in the morning.

“It’s all good!” He says as he joins them, sparing a polite nod to Yoongi who answers in kind, a stiff smile on his face.

“This is Min Yoongi,” Hyunwoo is introducing them, “he’s friends with Namjoon.”

“Oh, nice,” Hoseok is saying, introducing himself in kind and Kihyun notices how Hyunwoo doesn’t mention Kihyun’s own ties to Yoongi, wondering for who’s benefit the omission was made.

“What did the doctor say?” Kihyun asks Hoseok then, who turns to him with a shrug.

“Just to be mindful for the next couple days and that it will probably scar a little. Nothing I haven’t heard before. He gave me some stuff to prevent infection and checked that my tetanus vaccinations were up to date.”

“And were they?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Hoseok laughs self-consciously, gaze shifting to Hyunwoo before snapping back to Kihyun, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. Kihyun tries hard not to roll his eyes.

“Okay so maybe they weren’t and maybe they had to give me a tetanus shot,” Hoseok says, “but it’s fine now!” He adds quickly as Kihyun’s expression shifts to something dangerous.

“I should kill you. You’re working on a goddamn farm around rusty shit all day!”

“You won’t kill me. Tetanus will get me first.”

“I’d kick you if you weren’t hurt,” Kihyun sighs as Hoseok grins at him.

“He’s got two legs,” Hyunwoo remarks helpfully, Hoseok turning to him with a betrayed look which only earns him a patented shrug.

Kihyun laughs then, and it’s easy again as he turns to Yoongi, standing forgotten on the sidelines of their chatting.

“We’re gonna go,” he says, “tell Namjoon we hope he’s fine.”

“Will do,” Yoongi answers, holding his gaze a little too long and there’s too much things there Kihyun doesn’t want to read so he turns away, listening faintly to the others as they bid their goodbyes before following him outside.

Hyunwoo doesn’t ask Kihyun if he’s okay, instead opening the car’s passenger door for him before helping Hoseok into the back-seat despite his protests that he’s absolutely fine. And Hyunwoo drives a little too fast, puts the radio on a little too loud, pulls the windows down and Kihyun again lets the wind blows his thoughts out of his head, listening to Hoseok’s excited chatter about the motorcycle, to Hyunwoo’s quiet answers and it’s okay, he repeats himself, it is, this too shall pass.

  
  


**4.**

“It’s really nothing,” Namjoon’s voice is saying from somewhere above Yoongi’s head, “I am touched but you don’t have to look so despairing.”

“What?” Yoongi says as he lifts his head from where it was buried into his hands, curled up as he was on the same plastic chair Kihyun had occupied earlier. Namjoon is standing before him, the sleeve of his sweater pulled up on a bandage covering his left forearm.

“Okay,” Namjoon says as he takes the chair next to Yoongi, “I have a feeling this isn’t about my near-death experience.”

“The universe is fucking with me,” Yoongi answers, sagging into his chair as he lets his head fall back against the wall. There’s a humidity stain on the ceiling vaguely shaped like a sheep and he stares at that, hearing Namjoon sigh next to him.

“What happened again?”

“Kihyun and Hyunwoo were there. Waiting for some guy named Hoseok.”

“Oh,” Namjoon says, which is immensely helpful. Yoongi cranes his neck to look at him, realizing how self-centred he’s being.

“Sorry, are you okay?”

“I am,” Namjoon says, “thanks for asking. Like I said it was just a shallow cut. You can go back to your ongoing crisis now.”

“Great,” Yoongi says, but he remains silent. There is nothing to say, really. Kihyun had been there, and now he wasn’t, and there had been Hyunwoo’s hand on Kihyun’s thigh and his sudden silence and he probably hated Yoongi, which would be well deserved. And then that third guy with the blinding smile.

“Why is everyone working with Kihyun so hot?”

“You’re talking about Hoseok?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, shifting impossibly lower into his chair.

“I don’t know. Maybe he just attracts hot people. His cousin’s very pretty too. And the guy who hangs around said cousin all the time.”

“Great,” Yoongi deadpans, closing his eyes.

“There’s two other dudes too. The ones you met at the party.”

“Are they gonna come out with a single later in the year? First all-farmers idol band of the country?”

“Maybe,” Namjoon laughs, knocking their knees together. “They could too. Kihyun actually sings really well.”

“How do you even know that?”

Namjoon shrugs, playing with the edge of his bandage. Yoongi resists the urge to slap his hand away.

“When they tire of bingo the community centre holds karaoke competition sometimes. The guys bust him out when they want the prize. It was a really nice dishwasher last time and I guess they eat a lot on that farm.”

Yoongi groans, wondering why the idea of Kihyun bursting into songs to win a dishwasher at a dinky community centre event is that appealing to him.

“Are you jealous?” Namjoon is asking, “is that what this is?”

“Honestly?” Yoongi says, “I don’t know what I am.”

And it’s true. There’s just this deeply unsettling feeling nesting inside him, one that urges him to seek Kihyun out, one that wants to hear him laugh again, that wants the easy banter he has with his friends to be directed at him and Yoongi wonders suddenly if this is what Kihyun was feeling, when he would watch them from the classroom window, if he had wanted to be a part of it, too, running and laughing with them and Yoongi wonders what would have happened if they had let him.

“Do you think he’d let me talk to him?” He asks Namjoon, who abandons his bandage in favour of fidgeting with the hem of his sweater, pulling loose threads out of the tired fabric.

“To say what?”

“I don’t know. Just talk. Maybe he hates me, though.”

“I don’t think Kihyun hates anyone. I think he’s happy.”

“You think he’s happy?”

“Yeah. Or content, at least. That doesn’t leave much room for hate.”

Yoongi is about to answer when his phone buzzes furiously, Taehyung’s name flashing on the screen when he eventually fishes it out. Jimin and him were supposed to visit the wedding’s venue after lunch, lunch which had been sadly interrupted with Namjoon somehow managing to drive a knife through his own arm while chopping onions. He couldn’t see because of the tears, he’d said as Yoongi had hauled him to the hospital.

“What’s up?” Yoongi drawls as he picks up, Taehyung’s voice immediately blaring into the receiver without so much as a hello.

“They thought Jimin was a girl,” he’s half-yelling into the phone, Yoongi distancing the receiver from his ear. “Jimin can be a girl’s name too, right? So they thought Jimin was a girl.”

“Okay? And?”

“And now they don’t want to hold the wedding anymore! They don’t want to risk the controversy or some bullshit like that I was so mad I wasn’t really listening anymore.”

“Oh, fuck,” Yoongi says, Namjoon’s gaze snapping to him with concern. Yoongi puts his phone on speaker, having Taehyung recount the story in more details.

“Fucking bastards,” Namjoon says, flailing with his hands. “There must be other places we can look into.”

“It’s in less than a week, dude,” Taehyung’s tiny voice reaches them, defeated. “Everything’s booked to hell and back. There’s no way we’ll find something.”

“You guys can’t cancel,” Yoongi says in a breath, Taehyung’s following yell startling them both.

“Fuck no we can’t! But I don’t know what to do!”

“What does Jimin say?”

“He’s sort of shell-shocked. He keeps saying he should change his name to Gildong or something.”

“That’s – okay that’s kinda funny but also sad,” Yoongi says eventually, eliciting a snort from Taehyung and Namjoon looks to him with relief on his features; if they can still get Taehyung to laugh all is not lost.

“Look, dude, Namjoon knows everyone here, right?” Yoongi starts to ramble, feeling his heart beating loudly against his ribs, “we can find someone willing to help, like we’re surrounded by goddamn fields so the space isn’t lacking, and you guys can have a hipster outdoor country wedding or something.”

There’s a silence at the other end, and then Taehyung’s voice reaching them from afar, yelling _Gildong love, how do you feel about a hipster outdoor country wedding?_ and Jimin’s even tinier voice yelling in answer something indecipherable Yoongi waits for Taehyung to relay.

“He says it’s fine, that he just wants to get married somehow.”

“Okay cool, look we’re gonna find you guys a nice field, like a really nice one, and you figure out the chairs and tables and all. The caterer won’t mind whether it’s in a hall or a field right?”

“I don’t know, I’ll call them, but they probably won’t.”

Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s wrist then, bringing the phone closer to himself.

“Ask the community centre for the tables and chairs, they have a shitton of them.”

 _Karaoke competitions,_ Namjoon mouths to Yoongi when he looks at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Okay, alright, thanks. Maybe we can pull that off.”

“We can,” Yoongi says, “you just gotta believe in the power of love,” he adds cornily and Taehyung swears at him before hanging up, yelling something about chairs and wedding halls that should be burnt down.

“Is he gonna get arrested for arson?” Yoongi asks as he watches the phone’s screen go black, Namjoon snorting next to him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Nothing is ever easy, uh,” Yoongi sighs, reclining back in his creaky plastic chair. “Where the heck are we supposed to find them a place? It gotta have amenities too. I won’t have port-a-potties at my best friend’s wedding. Can we sue the wedding hall? I bet we can sue the wedding hall.”

“Well,” Namjoon is saying, a thoughtful look on his face Yoongi instantly dreads. “I don’t know about suing wedding hall, but what I do know is who has great, rolling fields full of colour-coordinated fall vegetables looking deliciously bucolic. And a big house, with real toilets and no port-a-potties.”

“Oh fuck no,” Yoongi says, straightening up, “no way we’re doing that.”

“It’s perfect though,” Namjoon barrels on, “he already knows and likes Jimin, so I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t say no outright, and of course we’d pay him. And I know his cousin and his whatever Hyunwoo is to him, so that’s just, you know, kinda like helping out a friend and not that weird we’d ask him.”

“Is this a plot against me?” Yoongi squeaks, and he knows Namjoon is right, that it’s the perfect solution right there, but he just hates it so much.

“You were looking for a way to talk to him. That’s the perfect way.”

“It’s no not. It makes much more sense that you do it rather than me, some random they barely know.”

“I’m busy,” Namjoon says, gaze flitting away from Yoongi.

“Doing what?”

“Healing. Also someone has to call the florist and all the guests to tell them there’s a change of plan.”

“I can do that!” Yoongi exclaims, crowding in Namjoon’s space, who pushes him off.

“No.”

“Namjoon.”

“Yoongi.”

“Please.”

“Just don’t be a coward.”

“Why are you pushing this?”

“Cause it’s kinda funny. Also you gotta get over whatever this is and now you have a legitimate reason to talk to Kihyun without it being weird or creepy.”

“It’s kinda weird though. What am I supposed to say? Hey how do you feel about holding a gay wedding on your property for people you barely know? Also one of the groom and most of his friends may have sort of bullied you once or twice, no biggie.”

“It will be cathartic,” Namjoon magnanimously pats Yoongi on the shoulder as the man buries his face in his hands with a groan.

“Come on,” Namjoon insists, “do it for Jimin and Taehyung. If it goes sideways you call me and I’ll fix it.”

“How?”

“I’m charming.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever,” Namjoon says, cuffing Yoongi on the back of the head. “Come on,” he says then, standing up and offering his hand to Yoongi. “We have a wedding to save.”

“I guess we do,” Yoongi sighs, grabbing Namjoon’s hand to pull himself up. “I hate all of this,” he adds, just to be difficult.

“I know,” Namjoon says, undeterred as he drags Yoongi towards the exit. Yoongi feels like his fate has been sealed. It’s not great, really, not great at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how I was like "wow it's been a month since I last updated" in the last chapter and now here we are.  
> Anyway, here is some more idiocy!  
> I hope you're all taking care of yourselves, and were able to spend the holidays doing something you like!  
> Thank you for reading

**1.**

Yoongi walks up the driveway, and then down, and then back up again before pausing a good way off the farmhouse. He sighs, scuffing his shoes on the dirt path, and lets his gaze wander a way off towards the fields. It’s true that the farm is pretty. Most of the fields have been harvested, yet a nice pumpkin patch remains, the vegetables resting against the earth in their pretty colours, surrounded by wildflowers. _Are pumpkins vegetables?_ Yoongi suddenly asks himself, and he fishes his phone out of his pocket to check. Pumpkins are cucurbita, Wikipedia tells him, whatever that means. So Yoongi clicks on the blue cucurbita link and lets himself be sucked into a spiral of blue links and newfound knowledge.

He knows he’s stalling. He knows he should walk up to the door and ring the bell before anyone spots him standing there like a creep but somehow his feet won’t obey himself, and the knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach is better off learning about whatever herbaceous plants are. Vascuous plants with no persistent woody stems above the ground, apparently, and yeah, Yoongi knows he’s being cowardly, and slightly pathetic, but this whole Kihyun experience has really been screwing with his head and if he’s being totally honest with himself, guilt and regrets are not the only feelings that have been awaken when he saw him again. There’s this _unfinished_ feeling, this _what if_ that keeps nagging at him, and the memory of Kihyun’s laugh etched in his mind.

Maybe Namjoon is right. Maybe he needs to confront whatever this is, because there isn’t much time left, and Yoongi knows there is a whole new horde of regrets waiting for him if he goes back to Seoul without talking to Kihyun at least once. Yoongi’s good with regrets, he’s used to their bleak company but maybe this time, just this time, he could do without. So he finally closes the article about phloem, pockets his phone, and takes a few steps towards the house, ignoring his own clammy hands and the way his lungs feel both too full and too empty. He doesn’t make it all the way there, though. The door opens, and it’s not Kihyun standing there, it’s that tall, tanned, terribly handsome guy he keeps seeing everywhere Kihyun is. Hyunwoo, or whatever. Yoongi feels his heart sink all the way to his stomach, and the smile he pushes to his lips is way too wobbly to convince anyone.

“This is private property,” Hyunwoo says, and wow, this really sounds like a good start. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I could talk to Kihyun,” Yoongi says, and his voice sounds way too quiet, his throat dry.

“Kihyun’s busy,” is Hyunwoo’s curt reply and Yoongi deflates on the spot, gaze falling from Hyunwoo’s face to the dog sitting at his feet, looking at Yoongi like he pities him and okay, maybe Yoongi is projecting a little but this dog really does have weirdly expressive eyes.

“Okay,” Yoongi says, “well, uh, could you tell him I dropped by?”

“Sure,” Hyunwoo says, and somehow it sounds to Yoongi like a no.

So Yoongi puts on a brave face, forces another awkward smile out and waves even more awkwardly before turning on his feet, feeling Hyunwoo’s gaze on him as he walks back down the driveway. Kihyun may not hate him, or so Namjoon says, but this guy definitely does, Yoongi thinks before any internal monologue is drowned out by an ungodly noise coming at him from a side path. Yoongi stops, Yoongi turns his head, and Yoongi somehow distinctly hears the driver of the dingy motorcycle, currently coming towards him at full speed, yell something to him.

“Move! We can’t break!”

Yoongi always thought he had good reflexes. In the event of a catastrophe, he always thought he would have somehow enough of a preserving instinct to make it through. He’s proved wrong when his feet won’t move, and he just stands there petrified, watching his doom unfold. He never thought he’d have things in common with a deer, and yet.

The guy behind the driver rises on his feet, and screeches at him.

“Move, bitch! Get out the way!”

It’s not the first time this voice has screamed at him, Yoongi thinks in passing before he finally manages to _move,_ and throws himself into the ditch on the side of the path as the motorcycle barrels past him in a cloud of dust and indistinct yelling.

It’s wet, in the ditch. Wet and painful. The sky’s pretty from here though, Yoongi thinks, all blue and cloudless with that distinct early winter crisp in the air and this is it, he has a concussion and he’ll die here, thinking of absent clouds and how painful his elbow is. Or maybe not, and there’s a face marring the expense of blue sky, a face with full lips and worried eyes and it’s that guy, the one who doesn’t like him, and Yoongi tries to smile but it tastes like blood.

“Dude, are you okay?” Hyunwoo is asking, and Yoongi nods. Or tries to. He does something with his head at the very least.

“Fucking hell!” Someone else is screaming and it rings painfully in Yoongi’s head. Another face appears next to Hyunwoo, one with dark hair and darker eyes and Yoongi knows it well, he does, and Yoongi smiles up at it from his ditch.

“Hi, Kihyun,” he croaks, and Kihyun winces.

“Are you alright?”

“Can Jimin and Taehyung hold their wedding on your farm?”

“What?”

Yoongi smiles. It feels like it’s all he can do right now.

“Jimin and Taehyung–”

There’s a third face now, one he knows too and Yoongi interrupts himself to smile.

“Hi, Hoseok, right? How’s the leg?”

“It’s great,” Hoseok says, and he really does have a nice smile, Yoongi thinks. “How’s the head?”

“Not great, I don’t think so, no. Am I bleeding?” Yoongi asks and he watches them all wince in varying degrees.

Kihyun opens his mouth to answer but there’s a commotion, some pushing, and two more faces appear, dirty and out of breath.

“Did we kill him?” the blond one asks and Yoongi recognizes him now, he’s the yelly one with the dog, and he was at the party, too.

“Still alive,” Yoongi says, and gives him two thumbs up.

“He doesn’t look too good,” the other one says and he gets shoved out of the circle, Kihyun yelling something to him about motorcycles and road safety and murder. Yoongi wants to tell him he’s fine, he’s almost pleasantly numb now and maybe that’s not a great sign but the ditch actually isn’t that uncomfortable, now that he’s used to being wet, and at least the mortification from earlier is all gone. It’s kinda cold, though, and it’s when he starts shivering that Hyunwoo and Hoseok go down into the ditch themselves, Hoseok helping him get on Hyunwoo’s back and it’s sort of nice, being carried like this.

Hyunwoo’s back is very broad, and like, sturdy. Yoongi gets it now. If he was Kihyun, he’d probably date Hyunwoo too. It’s fine. Hyunwoo doesn’t even falter once on the way to the house and okay Yoongi isn’t that heavy but it’s still impressive. What a guy, Yoongi thinks in passing when Hyunwoo gently deposits him on a soft couch.

“We should get him to the hospital,” Hyunwoo is saying to Hoseok who followed, and there’s Kihyun too, closing the door to the living room behind him. He’s carrying a first-aid kit and Yoongi gives him a dopey smile when he kneels in front of him, opening the lid of the little box.

“I’m really fine,” Yoongi says, “I don’t need the hospital. So, about the wedding–”

“Stop talking,” Kihyun interrupts him, and Yoongi shuts his mouth with an audible click.

Yoongi watches silently as Kihyun soaks cotton balls in antiseptic and starts dabbing at his face. It stings, and Yoongi winces, but it’s also sort of nice to be taken care of. And then something clicks, and maybe Yoongi’s mind is finally coming back to himself – the situation slowly dawns on him; how close Kihyun is, close enough for him to count his eyelashes, and they’re pretty, and Kihyun’s actually _touching_ him, and okay, Yoongi is maybe a bit delirious still, and he can feel the blush rise to his cheeks despite all his efforts to act remotely normal. And maybe Kihyun feels the tension that wafts off him in waves as his gaze drops from the cut on his forehead to spare him a questioning glance.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yup,” Yoongi answers immediately. “I just hit my elbow on a rock I think. And the whole forehead thing. Also I’m wet.”

Kihyun stares a bit too long, Yoongi replaying what he just said in his mind but it sounds alright to him, so he just keeps on smiling.

“Maybe you should get a brain scan,” Kihyun says tentatively, and Hyunwoo moves behind him.

“I’ll go get the truck and drive him.”

“Thanks,” Kihyun tells him and Yoongi doesn’t have time to protest before both Hyunwoo and Hoseok vacate the premises.

It’s worse, now that he’s alone with Kihyun. Yoongi feels hyper aware of everything Kihyun does, each sounds that he makes. Kihyun’s gaze has dropped from Yoongi's face and he has fallen silent, putting back the cotton and antiseptic into the kit way more meticulously than warranted. This is awful for them both, Yoongi realizes then. The last thing Kihyun wants is to find himself alone with Yoongi, and the awkwardness threatens to choke Yoongi as he shifts on the couch, tentatively stretching his arms. Besides his left elbow, everything seems fine enough.

“I’m sorry,” Kihyun says suddenly, “like, on their behalf.”

“It’s okay. It really doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” Yoongi smiles, but Kihyun still isn’t looking at him, fidgeting with the lid of the kit.

“One of them quoted Ludacris at me before running me over,” Yoongi tries again, and this grabs Kihyun’s attention, a fleeting smile appearing on his lips.

“Yeah, that sounds like Minhyuk alright,” he says, and his gaze finally alights on Yoongi’s face, yet the mirth there is suddenly replaced by something much more serious, something that has Yoongi chew on his inner cheek, wide eyes trained on Kihyun in anticipation. The knot is back in his stomach.

“Why did you come here?” Kihyun asks then, and it seems there’s a specific answer he’s waiting for, something he’s hoping to hear, something that is not about anyone else’s wedding and Yoongi finds himself at a loss. Because Yoongi can’t tell him the real reason, he can’t tell him he’s been thinking of him since that day he first saw him, and maybe even before that, on and off for years. That he would pass laughing high-schoolers on the street and be reminded of that time, of a wistful, lonely boy sat by a window, looking off towards the dusty fields. That he would wonder what had become of him, and that regrets would bloom like wildflowers in his chest, regrets and what-ifs, useless wishes that it had been different, that _he_ had been different – less of a coward, less of an idiot. Yoongi can’t tell Kihyun that if he could go back, he would do things differently. He wouldn’t push him around, he wouldn’t let him cry alone. It’s useless, anyway. What is done is done, there’s no changing this, there’s no making it better. And there’s sadness unfurling in his chest now, sadness for all things broken, all things lost.

“I–” Yoongi starts, interrupting himself, gazing at Kihyun who’s staring back with something almost hopeful in his gaze. He’s lovely, he is, the sharp contour of his bones, the obsidian glint of his eyes, and Yoongi wants to reach out and touch him because maybe then he could convey what words cannot.

But he keeps his hands to himself, dropping his gaze to his scraped fingers in his lap and this is too much, thorns pushing against his ribs, made of words he doesn’t know how to tell.

“I just, I wanted to, I mean–” Yoongi tries, but he interrupts himself again as Hyunwoo steps back into the room, Kihyun’s gaze falling from Yoongi to him.

“We can go,” he’s saying and Kihyun nods, helping Yoongi up, who realizes then he has a slight limp. _This went well_ , he thinks as the truck’s door closes on him and Hyunwoo takes his place in the driver’s seat. Yoongi realizes something else, then. There’s something worst than being alone with Kihyun. It’s being alone with _Hyunwoo_.

**2.**

Leaning against the kitchen window that morning, nursing a cup of too-strong coffee to the sounds of Hyunwoo crunching cereals in the background, Kihyun had not recognized Yoongi right away. Maybe because he hadn’t expected in a million years that Yoongi would one day be walking up and down his driveway at fuck o’clock in the morning.

“I think we have a creeper,” Kihyun says, and the crunching noises stop, Hyunwoo joining him at the window.

“What the heck is that guy doing?” he asks, and Kihyun shrugs. They watch as the guy stops walking, looking engrossed in whatever it is he’s looking up on his phone.

“Maybe he’s lost,” Kihyun offers, stifling a yawn that raises tears to his bleary eyes.

“Isn’t it that dude?” Hyunwoo pipes up, taking another spoonful of the cereal bowl he carried with him.

“Which dude?”

“You know,” Hyunwoo says through a mouthful, not looking at Kihyun but frowning at the driveway creep instead, “that dude from the library. Yoongi.”

The name feels like a cold shower, and Kihyun pushes his face closer to the window, wiping tired tears from his eyes. And Hyunwoo’s right, he is, it _is_ Yoongi standing there in the driveway for some unfathomable reason.

“Oh,” Kihyun says eloquently, “oh no.”

Hyunwoo spares him an unimpressed stare as Kihyun flattens himself against the wall, as if there was any chance Yoongi could spot him through the window. It feels like an invasion, if Kihyun’s been totally honest. Yoongi is not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to exist in this space, this space that is Kihyun’s own. Yoongi belongs to another time, one that is not supposed to encroach on this present he worked so hard for, and Kihyun doesn’t really know how to handle the overlapping of the two. Or maybe he’s being a tad dramatic, but the fact is that Yoongi is in his driveway and there’s a familiar knot of anxiety blooming in his belly.

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Hyunwoo offers then, his expression unreadable as he sets his bowl down on the windowsill.

“Like, in a mafia way?” Kihyun asks daftly because frankly, sometimes Hyunwoo looks a bit scary.

“No,” Hyunwoo says, but he’s still not smiling. “In a get-out-my-property way. Although, you do have a lot of empty fields where we could bury a body.”

Kihyun stares at Hyunwoo, who stares back, and then Kihyun cracks up, cuffing Hyunwoo on the shoulder. Hyunwoo finally lets out a smile, shaking his head.

“Let’s keep straight up murder as a back-up plan, I’ll just go tell him to scram, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Kihyun says, sobering up.

Hyunwoo nods, turning to Kihyun one last time before leaving the kitchen.

“You don’t want to hear why he came?” he asks, and Kihyun shakes his head.

He doesn’t think there is anything Yoongi might say that he wants to hear. There is no apology that could alleviate the grief he carried with him throughout all of his teenage years, no apologies that could unmake the feelings he still has, sometimes, the feelings that he’s not good enough, that he never will be, that he deserved all this from how inadequate he always is. There is nothing Yoongi might say that would change the fact that he hurt him, deeply, because Kihyun was stupid enough to fall for him as Yoongi laughed with the others, pushed him down, acted like he was not worth even the most basic decency.

And so Kihyun watches Hyunwoo through the window, cringing when his loud _this is private property_ reaches his ears because this sounds too much like a bad movie, and maybe it stings a little when Yoongi retreats, Kihyun watching his back disappear down the driveway. Maybe, just maybe, some part of him did want to know what Yoongi was doing here, and – and Kihyun doesn’t have the time to explore this thought process in its entirety as he watches Yoongi roll into a ditch while Hyungwon barrels down the driveway on the motorcycle Kihyun is _sure_ Hoseok had expressly forbidden them to ride until he was done with it.

Kihyun runs out without any shoes on, screaming, and when he reaches Hyunwoo, peering with him down at Yoongi lying motionless in the ditch, he can feel his heart beat too loudly against his ribs, worry sealing the breath in his lungs. And then, then Yoongi _hi Kihyun_ him again, and Kihyun winces.

“Are you alright?” he asks, watching a pearl of blood travel down Yoongi’s forehead from a shallow cut there.

“Can Jimin and Taehyung hold their wedding on your farm?” Yoongi answers instead of anything remotely sensible.

“What?” Kihyun croaks, thinking Yoongi must have a concussion and that this is all his fault for hiring unhinged people, and Yoongi is trying to speak again but there’s Hoseok now pressing against Kihyun’s side, and Hyungwon and Minhyuk worming their way through to peer down at the casualty and they really need to get him out of this ditch, Kihyun tells himself as he watches Yoongi offer the most pathetic thumbs up he’s ever seen.

“Stop talking,” Kihyun tells Yoongi later, when he’s safely out of the ditch and planted on his couch like an obedient child, still trying to say something about a wedding. He still looks dazed, and it is a bit strange to see him like this, all worry of potential brain damage pushed aside. Kihyun is _touching Yoongi’s face_ , through the intermediary of cotton maybe, but _still_ , and Yoongi keeps staring at him with this strangely soft look that puts him on edge. Kihyun’s hands are clammy, and the blush forming on Yoongi’s cheeks does nothing to alleviate the strange tension rising between them. Yoongi must feel it, too, how weird this is, and Kihyun drops his gaze from Yoongi’s forehead to his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, before Yoongi starts droning in a strained voice that has Kihyun staring slightly too long, Yoongi smiling at him like a lunatic.

“Maybe you should get a brain scan”, Kihyun says tentatively, hearing Hyunwoo behind him say something about getting the truck. And just like that, they’re left alone, which does nothing for the awkwardness Kihyun feels between them. The air in the room is stifling and Kihyun shifts, taking too much care into sorting the first-aid kit. The silence stretches, Yoongi moving on the couch, stretching his arms, and Kihyun must say something before the silence has him imploding. And so he does, the first thing that comes to his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he says, Yoongi looking at him, a bit startled. “Like, on their behalf,” Kihyun adds painfully, and oh, this is really awkward, and he can barely look at the smile Yoongi gives him, fidgeting with the lid of the kit instead.

“It’s okay. It really doesn’t hurt that much anymore.”

There’s a pause, Kihyun wondering what he should say.

“One of them quoted Ludacris at me before running me over,” Yoongi adds then, a sense of wonder in his tone.

That has Kihyun smile, rolling his eyes as he finally stares back at Yoongi.

“Yeah, that sounds like Minhyuk alright,” Kihyun says, but then he has nothing to add and they’re just staring at each other, too close, much too close, closer than they’ve ever been and there’s a cut on Yoongi’s forehead, a bruise forming on his jaw; his hair are a wet mess and he looks young, much too young, just like he did sometimes showing up to class after a fight and Kihyun would stare at him from the safety of the back-row, wanting to reach out and touch, to ask if it hurt, to smooth down his hair knowing that he could never, that they didn’t exist on the same plane, that there was a barrier of contempt, of disdain between them, too tall to leap over. And Kihyun would look down at the wrinkly pages of his textbook and miss the way Yoongi’s stare would alight on him, something wistful in the turn of his mouth, in the glint of his eyes.

“Why did you come here?” Kihyun asks then, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. And Kihyun doesn’t know what answer it is that he seeks, but he knows that he needs one, that there’s yet something hopeful within him, something he had wished to crush all those years ago yet it is still here, still attuned to Yoongi’s every look, every gesture. And Yoongi looks at him with a searching gaze, something guarded in his face, something wistful, too, and his hand twitches in his lap as if he’d wished to reach out but he stammers instead. He looks almost sad then when the words fault him, his too-intense gaze dropping from Kihyun’s face to his useless hands in his lap. There is something there, something that could take shape if only they had more time, but Hyunwoo is trudging back into the room, and _we can go_ , he says, Kihyun’s gaze snapping to him.

Just like that, the moment is lost, and Kihyun helps Yoongi limp to the truck parked in the driveway, as close to the house as Hyunwoo could make it. Kihyun doesn’t miss the way Yoongi looks back as the passenger’s door closes on him. Helpless, almost sad, and it tugs at Kihyun’s heart – he used to look at him the same way, back then. And this time, too, nothing comes of it. The truck’s engine purrs to life, and Kihyun watches as Yoongi disappears from view, a strange sense of loss settling in his being.

**3.**

The ride is painfully silent at first, Yoongi trying to melt against the car door and Hyunwoo staring out the windshield as if the road had personally offended him. Yoongi is weighting whether they’re going too fast for him to just get out the car while it’s still moving when Hyunwoo clears his throat, glancing his way before focusing back on the road.

“What did you want with Kihyun?” he asks, a little stiffly.

Yoongi swallows, staring at the fields passing them by.

“The wedding hall Jimin and Taehyung booked for their wedding doesn’t want them anymore,” Yoongi asks, grateful for having a legitimate reason for creeping up and down Kihyun’s driveway. “I was supposed to ask Kihyun if it would be possible to rent space on his farm. For like, an outdoor wedding.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold for that?” Hyunwoo asks, and Yoongi shrugs. It’s not like they really have a choice anyway.

“Why don’t they want them anymore?” Hyunwoo continues and Yoongi sighs, rubbing his face in his hands. It’s a mistake; the cut on his forehead had barely started to scab over, and his fingers come off slightly bloody, the cut stinging.

“They thought Jimin was a girl’s name. It’s not. And so…”

“I see,” Hyunwoo says, and his jaw looks tense. “Which hall was that again?”

Yoongi turns to look at him fully and Hyunwoo’s brows have furrowed, his grip tightening on the wheel.

“Taehyung is considering arson,” Yoongi says instead of answering, “do you perhaps want to join?”

Hyunwoo laughs then, something sharp and short-lived but his face has relaxed and the glance he offers Yoongi isn’t so dark anymore.

“I don’t think Kihyun would mind lending you guys space,” he says, eyes back on the road. “We can probably work something out.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, and at least this wasn’t all for nothing, relief pooling in his stomach. He roots around in his pocket for his phone to text Taehyung when Hyunwoo speaks again, his voice a little subdued.

“What is there between you and Kihyun, exactly?”

Yoongi stares, mouth slightly agape, and lets his phone fall back in his pocket. The awkwardness is palpable once again, Yoongi folding against his seat. There is a pounding headache forming behind his eyes, and he really doesn’t want to deal with this right now, but there it is. He probably owes Kihyun’s boyfriend some sort of explanation for all the weirdness that has been going on, and judging by the question, Kihyun hasn’t told him anything. This is strange in itself, and so Yoongi’s careful to keep things as vague as he can when he answers. Some things are not for him to tell.

“We know each other from highschool. First time I see him in years.”

“Did you do something to him back then?” Hyunwoo’s asking, gaze darting between Yoongi and the road. There’s a carefulness to his tone, underlined by a protectiveness Yoongi is both glad to hear and unsettled by. _Where were you,_ he sort of wants to ask, _where were people like you when Kihyun actually needed help?_ And then he feels bad, because it’s not like he did anything himself back then, and really, his head is all kind of screwed.

“Not really, compared to some,” he says. “That’s the issue, though. Not doing anything.”

There’s a thoughtful sound from Hyunwoo, his gaze settled on the road ahead. They’re already on the outskirts of the little town, and Yoongi’s both relieved and bothered that this limited time they have is coming to an end. There is so much things he wants to ask, things he should really be asking Kihyun, but he’ll do with what he gets.

“Is he…” he starts, not sure where his sentence will end. Hyunwoo glances at him, face open and oddly encouraging. “Is he, like, happy? Is he okay?” He continues, keeping his gaze on the windshield.

“Why are you asking?” Hyunwoo says, and Yoongi shrugs.

“I just. I just want to know.”

Hyunwoo hums again, nodding to himself as if this confirmed something he had suspected.

“He is,” he says, “it’s not perfect, of course, and I’ve known him for barely a year. But he seems content.”

Yoongi nods, the fondness in Hyunwoo’s voice stirring an ugly feeling within him he hastens to bury. This is not his place, really, those are not feelings he’s entitled to have.

“How long have you guys been going out?” he asks before he can stop himself and winces when Hyunwoo spares him a wide-eyed glance.

“What?” Hyunwoo asks, voice slightly too high.

“How long have you guys been, you know, together?” Yoongi repeats, because he made his bed and now he must lie in it.

“We’re not together,” Hyunwoo says, looking at Yoongi as if he sprouted a second head and Yoongi feels all sorts of lost.

“But you always are. Together, I mean.”

“Yeah, well, I live on his farm, and he’s like, one of my best friend now. But that’s it.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says lamely, and he isn’t sure what this information is doing to him, and he’s not sure he actually wants to know either.

“Would you like to be?” he asks Hyunwoo instead of shutting up. He’ll blame it on the concussion later, even if he’s now pretty sure he doesn’t actually have one.

“What?” Hyunwoo says again, and there’s a bewildered laugh threatening to spill from his lips.

“Would you like to be with him?” Yoongi barrels on, because at this point might as well.

“Dude, what’s with this line of questioning?” Hyunwoo says, now fully laughing. “Do _you_ want to be with him? Is that what’s all this weirdness is about?”

“No,” Yoongi is quick to say, “no I don’t.”

But then again, does he? This is all extremely confusing, and he remembers pretty eyelashes fanning over tanned skin, and gentle hands on his face, and a sad boy at a window, the sun glimmering in his his dark hair. A boy he’d pushed in a puddle, a boy who had remained at the back of his mind for years until a yellow dog bounding past him had brought him back to him.

“There’s just, there’s just, like, this unfinished feeling," Yoongi starts, words spilling out of him now that he allowed them. "You know, like I missed something back then. Something important.”

Hyunwoo listens and Yoongi wonders in passing why he’s so easy to talk to, no judgement in his face, clear eyes on the road and lips silent.

“There’s some things I should have done,” Yoongi continues, “and I didn’t, and now I just… It’s not about making amends or apologizing, but I just. I don’t know, I want to talk to him. I never thought I’d see him again and now that he’s here I need to do something about it.”

“You never thought you’d see him again?”

“What?” Yoongi says, turning to stare at Hyunwoo who keeps his eyes on the road. He takes a turn and the clinic is there at the end of the street, the natural end to their conversation.

“You thought about him,” Hyunwoo continues, changing lanes. “After highschool, I mean.”

“Well, erm, yeah?” Yoongi says, not sure what Hyunwoo is getting at but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he enters the parking lot. He turns to Yoongi once they’re parked, an earnestness in his face Yoongi had yet to see.

“I’m not sure what’s been going on,” he says, “and like I said, I haven’t known Kihyun for that long. But it feels like he has some luggage, and he’s not always strong. I’m not sure if it has something to do with you, but it feels like maybe it does.”

“Is this,” Yoongi interrupts, licking his dry lips. “Is this the shovel talk?

“No,” Hyunwoo says, smiling. “Although we do have shovels and a lot of land,” he adds as an afterthought, and Yoongi shrivels a bit in his seat.

“What I mean is that, whatever this is, it should be clear in your mind before you go around talking to him. He doesn’t need some confused memory walking up to him, hi Kihyun-ing him like you did that day in Namjoon’s library and then gaping at him like a, like, erm–”

“Like an idiot, it’s fine, you can say it,” Yoongi mercifully puts Hyunwoo out of his misery and Hyunwoo laughs again, nodding. The guy has a nice laugh, Yoongi notices, and he has the sudden need to prove to him that he’s not there to hurt Kihyun any more than he already is, that he can be something good, maybe, something that would mend some of the brokenness put in Kihyun by harsh words and harsher hands.

“I’ve been kind of messing up a lot lately,” he says then, “and like, it’s not even new. I’ve been messing up since I’ve known him. And it’s been eating at me kind of a lot. I really don’t want to make things any worse, if that’s your worry.”

Hyunwoo sighs, taking the keys out of the ignition, and Yoongi has the distinct impression he’s resigning himself to something.

“Alright,” he says, “do what you feel like doing. But remember that I’m very tall and very heavy, and that you’re not.”

“So it _is_ the shovel talk,” Yoongi grins at him and Hyunwoo snorts, shaking his head as he finally gets out of the car, helping Yoongi limp his way to the counter where the nurse stares at them with recognition in her eyes.

“Hi,” Yoongi says with a smile, “it’s us again.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling, mumbling something about adult supervision as she gets out a form for him to fill. Yoongi waves Hyunwoo off when he offers to stay with him, and watches him retreat to the parking lot from the waiting area. Yoongi feels lighter, somehow – against all odds this wasn’t an entire disaster, and what Hyunwoo said was true. Yoongi needs to figure out what it is he really wants from Kihyun, and Yoongi sits there under the fluorescent lights of the hospital, a dull throbbing in his leg and a headache growing behind his eyes.

Yoongi thinks of Kihyun, of the calluses on his pretty hands and the wildflowers he let grow between the pumpkins. He thinks of his fleeting smile, of the wide-eyed stare he gave him. The gentleness of his touch and the sound of his voice. He thinks of a boy sitting at the back of an empty classroom, his arms on the windowsill and his cheek on his arms, staring out at a dusty field, the sun shining in his dark hair. He thinks of wretched sobs in an empty bathroom and a sharp laugh from a pumpkin head, witty words and an imagined smile. It’s simple, then. Yoongi’s heart softly aches, a gentle wistfulness taking hold of him as he closes his eyes. It feels like longing, it feels like warmth. He just wants Kihyun to like him.

**4.**

“I’m sorry I almost killed Yoongi and he had to dive headfirst into the ditch,” Hyungwon is saying, looking appropriately contrite, staring down at his lap as he sits at the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry I quoted Ludacris at him,” Minhyuk echoes, mirroring Hyungwon’s expression.

“Damn,” Jooheon says, ruining the apologetic atmosphere, “I gotta start getting to work on time if this is the type of shit I’m missing.”

Leaning next to him against the counter Changkyun snickers, trying and failing to disguise it as a cough when Kihyun glances sharply at him.

“You’re all hopeless,” Kihyun sighs, sitting back in his chair. Across from him Minhyuk and Hyungwon are still looking like they’re in for a scolding with the principal, their chastened expressions almost managing to make him feel bad. Only almost, though.

“You’re not allowed anywhere near the motorcycle,” he says, and Minhyuk gasps, looking up at him.

“But our custom jackets arrive next week!” he yells, and Hyungwon elbows him in the ribs.

“You guys got matching jackets?” Jooheon says, trying to school his features into something neutral but the corners of his lips keep trying to fold into a smile.

“Maybe,” Minhyuk says, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms against his chest. He’s looking more and more like a sulky teenager and Kihyun definitely did not sign up for this.

“Please tell me there’s flames on them,” Changkyun is saying, “and skulls.”

“The skulls are on the helmets,” Hyungwon says in a tiny, sad voice. “But I guess we won’t get to wear them now,” and then he looks at Kihyun with those kicked puppy eyes he mastered years ago and Kihyun groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Okay, okay,” Kihyun surrenders. “I’m not your dad. Do whatever. I’ll bring you oranges once you’re in jail for manslaughter. You gotta wait until Hoseok is really done with it, though.”

Kihyun pretends not to see them fistbump under the table and stands, pouring himself his third coffee cup of the morning. He’s just asking for one normal day, really, one without near-death experiences, hospital trips, and messy-haired boys with too full lips giving him anxiety. He sighs, watching through the window as their familiar pick-up truck appears in the driveway. Hyunwoo’s back, trudging into the kitchen not three minutes later.

“How is he?” Kihyun asks him, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Hyunwoo shrugs, putting the car keys on the hook near the door.

“He didn’t want me to stay, but he seemed okay. Nurse didn’t seem too worried. She asked me if I wanted a loyalty card when I left.”

“They do that?” Hyungwon perks up, everyone staring at him until he shrivels back on himself, Minhyuk patting his shoulder with commiseration.

“Nevermind,” he says, “please continue.”

“Well, that’s pretty much it,” Hyunwoo says as he pours himself a glass of water, patting Alli’s head who came to say hello.

“Why did he even come here?” Minhyuk asks then, turning to Kihyun who looks back helplessly.

“Ah, yeah, about that,” Hyunwoo pulls himself a chair, recounting the whole wedding ordeal and his vague promise that they would work something out.

“Oh,” Jooheon is saying when he finishes, “oh that really sucks.”

“Which wedding hall was that?” Changkyun asks with a glint in his eyes Kihyun isn’t entirely comfortable with.

“The new one downtown,” Hyunwoo answers. “Royal something.”

Changkyun hums under his breath, glancing to Jooheon who glances back, and they have that whole silent conversation thing they do sometimes, ending it on a satisfied smile. Kihyun doesn’t ask.

“I said we’ll be in touch,” Hyunwoo’s saying, playing with Alli’s ears. “You have Jimin’s number, right?”

“Yeah,” Kihyun nods as they start discussing which plot would be ideal, slowly realising none of them has any idea what hosting a wedding entails. Kihyun laughs and Kihyun nods and Kihyun goes along, trying his best to ignore the nagging thought at the back of his mind but it grows louder with each passing second, tying a familiar knot in his stomach. _He didn’t come for you,_ it says, and Kihyun doesn’t care, he really doesn’t, it’s not like he’d been _hoping_. Yet the voice is still there, familiar in the hurt it leaves behind, in the sharp edges of the words that cut deep at old scars. _He didn’t come for you, because why would he? You are nothing to him, nothing_ _to anyone,_ _nothing nothing…_

“Kihyun, you still there?” Jooheon’s voice cuts through, Kihyun looking up sharply at him.

“Uh? Sorry, what?”

Kihyun doesn’t miss the concern on Jooheon’s face, his hesitation before he speaks again. Kihyun feels like braining himself against the table.

“Nothing,” Jooheon mercifully pursues, “just, shouldn’t we meet with them?”

“Them?”

“Jimin and Taehyung. Before like, we go making plans.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kihyun says, finally back to the moment. They were talking about a wedding, right. Fields, love, halls that should be burnt down and such. “I’ll text them,” he says, fishing out his phone and scrolling through his contact list.

His last conversation with Jimin goes back to a few months ago, something irrelevant about a dumb video Jimin had sent him. Their relationship was basically that, bursts of exchanges every few months that lasted a couple of hours before dwindling into periods of prolonged silence. Yet if asked, both of them would probably say they were sort of friends; they had gone their different ways, yet the memories they shared had remained a tether to their mutual affection. The afternoons Kihyun had spent at Jimin’s place, trying to save his brother from academic failure, remained as ones of the few treasured memories from his teenage years. Jimin had been easy. Funny and nice. And more than that, Kihyun had felt useful. Valued, somehow, for the help he provided. And at the time, it had meant more than it really should have.

 _So you need a field?_ Kihyun types to Jimin, watching as the unread mark next to his ktalk message disappears almost instantly.

 _YES!!!!!!! Also you almost killed Yoongi?_ Jimin answers with a bunch of emoticons Kihyun isn’t even going to try and interpret.

 _I did not_ , he answers. _My cousin did._

_Same difference_

_He’s sorry, I think_

_It’s alright. Taehyung hasn’t finished laughing about it yet. Did he really scream bitch move, get out the way?_

_No, that was Minhyuk. My employee. He was riding behind_

“Send him a picture,” Minhyuk says then, way too close to Kihyun’s ear, and Kihyun jumps about a foot. Minhyuk and Hyungwon, having no concept of privacy, are peering down at his screen, and Kihyun rolls his eyes as he lifts his phone, framing the both of them in. They put their arms around each other’s shoulders, lifting their free hands in a V sign, grinning at the camera. Kihyun snaps the picture, sending it to Jimin right away with the caption _the culprits_.

 _They’re cute, I forgive them_ is Jimin’s immediate response. Minhyuk decides then that he likes him, and delves back into wedding planning for dummies with renewed enthusiasm until Hyunwoo remarks that it’s actually getting quite late in the morning and they should probably start working. There’s a collective groan, feet shuffling back and forth and the kitchen slowly empties as Kihyun keeps texting distractedly. He lifts his head when Hyunwoo pauses at the door, though, the last one to vacate the premises. Hyunwoo is looking back at Kihyun with something like concern in his face, and Kihyun pushes a smile to his lips almost by reflex.

“You okay?” Hyunwoo asks, fingers drumming a disjointed rhythm against the door frame.

“Yeah,” Kihyun nods, sensing the doubt in Hyunwoo’s expression. “Why?”

Hyunwoo shrugs, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Just, nothing. But, you know. If you need anything…”

Kihyun laughs, something warm thawing his insides at Hyunwoo’s fretting. He’s alright, he really is; everything will be over soon, after all, the wedding will pass and Yoongi will go back to Seoul, taking with him this bittersweet feeling blooming between Kihyun’s ribs, this strange longing for something that never was, this slew of memories Kihyun will bury back again, deep, deep under his heart where it’s dark and secret.

“I’m alright,” he says to Hyunwoo, “don’t worry about it. You have other concerns.”

“What other concerns?”

“Like, how you still haven’t laid your head on Hoseok’s pillowy bosom.”

Hyunwoo splutters, a nice crimson shade rising to his cheeks as he struggles for a comeback. Kihyun waves him off.

“We all have our shortcomings Hyunwoo, it’s fine.”

“I hate you sometimes,” Hyunwoo says, shaking his head under Kihyun’s laugh. Once he disappears down the corridor Kihyun looks back down at his conversation with Jimin, his last message left unanswered.

_We should all meet up!!!! Talk about the wedding and catch up!!!! I’m staying at Namjoon’s apparently you know Taehyung and Yoongi????? Why didn’t I know that lol Yoongi lowkey questioned me the other day did he have a crush on you_

Kihyun’s fingers hover over his screen, his chest tightening as the words burn themselves on his retina. It’s actually sort of funny, how wrongly Jimin is reading the situation. The idea of “catching up” is about the worst thing Kihyun can think of right now, root rot included, and he worries at his lower lip as he tries to come up with an excuse to avoid it entirely. He types it out, backspaces to word it differently at least three times, and he stares for a good two minutes before pressing send, wondering if Jimin will believe it, or suspect something. As he waits for the little unread mark to disappear, Kihyun thinks back to Yoongi’s wide-eyed stare as he sat on the couch, his faint blush. The strangely hopeful glint Kihyun had found in his eyes, the wistful turn of his mouth and the aborted gesture of his hands. It weight heavily on his chest and Kihyun sits back in his chair, a sigh escaping him that alleviates nothing as he stares at his awkward message.

 _I’m sorry_ , it says, _it’s really busy on the farm rn and I can’t really escape but Hyunwoo_ _can_ _drop by the library_ _later_ _to work out the details, just lmk when it’s convenient_

 _Oh : (((( its ok I understand_ , comes Jimin’s reply and Kihyun feels a tiny bit bad at the slew of sad emojis that follows it.

 _But we must get a drink at my wedding!!_ Jimin adds then, and that at least Kihyun can do.

_Anything for the groom :)_

And Kihyun is pretty sure the conversation will end there, but another message pops up, one that has him staring.

_Notice how you’re not denying Yoongi’s crush :D_

Kihyun sighs, and he must kill this before it becomes a recurring occurrence.

 _What’s the opposite of a crush,_ he asks, Jimin’s answer coming right away.

 _idk_ _,_ _like_ _hate at first sight_ _?_

_Yeah, that’s what Yoongi probably had :D I was a real nerd back then yk_

_Ye but you were my nerd_ _:_ _(((((_ _I’ll kick his ass_ _(_ _ง_ _'̀-'́)_ _ง_

The fighting emoji steals a laugh from Kihyun, who stares at Jimin’s answer a bit too long. _You were my nerd_ , and there’s something warm in that, something Kihyun had never been able to explain about his relationship with Jimin, neither strangers nor really friends. It came of gratefulness, maybe, of the kindness Kihyun had found in those fleeting moments spent bent over maths homework with an overworked middle schooler as Jimin stole their snacks, laying on the floor at their feet and offering insights no one asked for. It had been nice, it had been peaceful, a respite Kihyun had sorely needed.

 _Thank you_ , he types then, knowing Jimin probably won’t know what he is really thankful about.

 _Anytime (_ _＾◡＾_ _)_ _っ♡_ _I’m the one who should thank you, saving my family from disgrace once again. I’ll put you in my will_

_Isn’t that taking things a bit far for some math tutoring and a pumpkin field_

_I am entitled to my feelings!!!!!_

Kihyun laughs, shaking his head, just as Changkyun trudges into the kitchen, covered in wet mud from head to toe and a sheepish look on his face. He shrivels under Kihyun’s unimpressed stare, awkward smile growing impossibly wide.

“What the heck did you guys do again,” Kihyun deadpans, feeling preemptively exhausted.

“You know that water pump down in the zucchini patch you told us not to use?”

“Yeah?” Kihyun asks, dread creeping along his spine.

“Yeah, we used it.”

Kihyun groans, rising to his feet as he pockets his phone after a quick _gtg duty calls_ to Jimin. Changkyun follows him down the corridor with a meek, placating expression Kihyun would laugh at if he wasn’t so tired.

“Can’t we have like, one normal day?” he asks as he tugs his boots onto his feet.

“Tomorrow is Minhyuk and I day off,” Changkyun offers, and Kihyun sighs exaggeratedly in relief.

“Thank fuck,” he says, and ducks under Changkyun’s offended slap to his shoulder, laughing and running away as Changkyun follows, screaming at him.

**5.**

“Hey,” Jimin asks from his position on the couch, where he’s been lazing for the past hour. “How much work is involved in farming?”

Taehyung raises his head from his laptop, the wedding’s guest list burnt on his retina, glancing at Yoongi curled up in the armchair next to him.

“I don’t know,” he says after a pause. “Like, a lot. Why?”

Jimin stretches, cat-like and cosy, before curling back up onto himself, leaving his phone on his stomach.

“Just, Kihyun seems really busy. I hope he’s not just being polite about that whole wedding thing.”

“I don’t think he’s the type,” Namjoon says as he enters the living room, putting a plate of peeled oranges on the coffee table as he sits cross-legged on the floor.

Jimin hums, straightening up to reach for the fruits. Yoongi cracks an eye open, the name having stirred him from his headache-induced dozing. His head feels less like a cantaloupe being cracked open though, and the pain in his elbow is almost all gone, only the cut on his forehead and the bruise on his jaw remaining as a reminder of his early morning experience.

“Yeah, I guess that one time he almost decked the real estate dude is proof enough he’s not a pushover,” Jimin is saying through a mouthful.

Namjoon snorts, coughing down the piece of fruit he was chewing on.

“You know about that?” he laughs, and Jimin grins at him.

“About what?” Yoongi asks then, and Jimin’s gaze lands on him with a sharpness Yoongi’s not entirely comfortable with.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mumbles then and Yoongi’s taken aback, gawking at him, while Taehyung glances between them both with wide eyes.

“What?” Yoongi croaks, and Jimin is about to answer when Namjoon steam rolls over them both, having apparently not noticed the exchange, busy as he was not choking further on his orange.

“A couple years back he was sort of harassed into selling his farm by land developers, like, kinda shady guys,” he says, and Yoongi moves his gawking from Jimin to Namjoon. “It ended when he came out with a pickaxe and sort of like, threatened to kill and bury the guy in an unmarked grave if he kept showing up. He had backup and all.”

“That’s hot,” Taehyung says absently, back to scrolling on his laptop. In his head, Yoongi concurs. He also replays Hyunwoo basically threatening the same and wonders in passing if maybe they _do_ have corpses rotting somewhere in those rolling fields. He wonders something else, too. Where was this bravado when Kihyun actually needed it? And then he winces because _really, Yoongi? Victim-blaming now?_ And then Namjoon’s words replay themselves in his head, _he had backup and all_ , and it’s simple, really; Kihyun’s not alone anymore, and Yoongi pictures Hyunwoo by his side, Hoseok’s bright smile, the two chaos entities on the motorcycle. And that’s what made him brave, Yoongi guesses. People standing by him, and it’s easier to stand-up for yourself when it’s not just you against the world.

It’s an easy train of thought to follow, one that brings him straight to unhindered guilt. One person, he thinks, just one person on Kihyun's side could have changed everything and Yoongi sighs, rubbing his face in his hands. When he glances up Jimin is still looking at him with a calculating stare that puts him on edge and Yoongi stares back, mouthing _what?_ but Jimin just shrugs, stuffing more oranges into his mouth as he picks up his phone anew.

“Hyunwoo will drop by to discuss the details,” he says then, absently scrolling on his phone.

“Not Kihyun?” Namjoon says, wiping his hands free of orange juice on his own pants.

“After the disaster that was last time not sure he wants to be back here,” Taehyung says, not lifting his eyes from the computer, and everyone stares at him.

“What?” he asks, lifting his gaze to them when the silence proves to stretch a little too long.

“He just said he was busy on the farm,” Jimin says carefully, “but what are you referring too?”

Taehyung winces as if he’d been caught in a lie and Yoongi shrinks in his seat when Jimin’s eyes shift to him, something too much like disapproval in them.

“Did I miss something?” he says, “Kihyun sort of said you hated him back in high school, is that what this is about?”

“What?” Yoongi splutters, straightening up in his armchair. “He said that?”

“Not really,” Jimin shrugs, “I joked that you had a crush on him back then and he said more like the reverse. So like. What happened? Is that why he wouldn’t come to hang out?”

“You invited him to hang out?” Yoongi croaks out, and the face journey Taehyung’s currently going through would be funny if Yoongi was in a position to breath normally.

“Yeah, cause that’s what normal people who know each other do, but apparently it’s a big no-no in weirdo land where you all live,” Jimin says, and Namjoon snorts, poorly disguising it as a cough when Yoongi’s panicked gaze fall on him.

“I didn’t hate him,” he forces out, gaze falling back to Jimin, who’s looking at him as if he needs to be convinced. “It’s like, you know. We just… People were mean to him.”

“Why?” Jimin asks, expression falling slightly. And that’s a good question, really. Kihyun wasn’t any more awkward than any of them. He had slightly better grades, maybe, and he actually lived on a farm, and his clothes were less expensive, less new. Stupid, petty reasons, nothing that warranted the abuse directed at him and Yoongi finds himself at a loss because really, he doesn’t know what to answer. So he shrugs, helpless, and Jimin’s eyes narrow at him, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.

“I guess that explains why he never talked about his classes,” he says, “and why he seemed to not have any friends.”

There’s a short silence where Taehyung glances worriedly at Yoongi, Namjoon biting at his lower lip. Jimin sighs, uncurling on the couch, stretching his arms over his head.

“Judging by your faces I’m guessing you guys did nothing about it,” he says pettily, and everyone can hear the disappointment in his voice. It sorts of hurts Yoongi, really, to have his own disappointment, his own guilt reflected back at himself and he lowers his eyes, looking down at his scraped hands.

“Damn, I sort of feel bad that we asked him for help now,” Jimin mumbles and Taehyung gasps, looking back up at him. “If it was me I’d have told myself to fuck off.”

“That’s cause you’re petty, though,” Taehyung tries and Jimin smiles ruefully, falling back against the couch.

“Yeah, I guess we’re all adults now. Water under the bridge and all that.”

 _Doesn’t feel like it_ , Yoongi wants to say. Kihyun’s wide-eyed stare is etched into his mind, his choked panic of that day in the library. But there’s his tentative smile from the morning, too, his proximity, the gentleness Yoongi had found there, now nesting between his ribs like something precious. And it’s confusing, really, it is, and Yoongi wishes he had had the gall to tell Kihyun. Tell him he hadn’t come for the wedding, not only, not really. That he had come for him, because – because he’d liked him when he hadn’t known who he was, back at Namjoon’s party, and he’d liked him more when he knew. Because back then, when he had stood there listening to him sob in a dingy bathroom, he had wished to come in and comfort him. He had wished to change everything, he had wished to tear into everyone who had made him like this, his heart beating loudly against his skinny ribs, his fists curled at his sides.

Because he would stare at him while Kihyun gazed out the window, oblivious to the turmoil he elicited, because Yoongi had tried to ignore how that made him feel, the way he could never tear away from the sharpness of Kihyun’s profile, the melancholy etched there tugging at his heart. It was scary, it was confusing, and Yoongi had buried it deep, so deep, yet that day when he had pushed him down into a puddle, had laughed at him, it had exploded against his ribs in something unbelievably painful that he hadn’t been able to push back down. And it was still there, pushing thorns under his skin, digging a hole in his side. And Kihyun was still as beautiful, still as sharp, hidden depths to him Yoongi still wished to tread. He should have reached out, that morning, like he had wanted to. He should have told him, and if Kihyun hadn’t wished to hear, had kicked him straight back into the ditch, it would have been fine.

There’s a pang in his chest, a painful little jab like a reminder of the hidden feelings stirring there. And Yoongi lifts his head, staring straight at Jimin, who stops laughing at something Taehyung said when he catches the intensity in Yoongi’s gaze.

“I did have a crush on him, though, back then,” Yoongi says. “And I still like him, I think. Or I stopped, and now I like him again.”

“Wha–” Jimin starts, wide-eyed and blushing, for some reason.

“Oh wow,” Yoongi says, a weight lifting from his chest. “I really do. I need to go tell him,” he says, clumsily rising from the arm-chair, half tripping over his numbed foot.

“Like, right now?” Namjoon says, grabbing at his pants leg as Yoongi passes him by.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, looking down at him, and he doesn’t miss the half-amused, half-concerned glance Jimin and Taehyung exchange.

“So you like, want to go tell a guy you haven’t spoken to in years that you like him, right after you gave him a panic attack in a library and then proceeded to brain yourself on his property?” Namjoon enunciates carefully, gaze steady on Yoongi’s face. “A guy you used to sorta-bully in high school? And who probably doesn’t really like you?”

“It sounds like a terrible plan when you put it this way,” Yoongi says, feeling himself deflate. He sits back down right on the spot, letting his head fall on Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon pats his hair with commiseration, a light sigh escaping his chest.

“It’s okay, Yoongi.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi says, letting himself feel as miserable as he wishes. Which is a lot. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Not act like a total sociopath,” Jimin says mercifully, leaning towards him, “and like, try to have a normal conversation with him, before you tell him you have gross, sticky feelings for his person?”

“That sounds like what Namjoon said once, but like, meaner,” Yoongi mumbles, burying his face fully against Namjoon. He smells nice. The dark is nice, too. His headache is back. Yoongi wants to sleep for a thousand years but someone is patting his thigh. It’s Taehyung, judging by the voice that follows.

“You’re a bit of an idiot,” he says, “but it will be fine. You can hijack the inner romanticism of our wedding."

“I hate you,” Yoongi says, and Taehyung laughs.

**6.**

Kihyun is awakened by unusual sounds below his window, and a quick look at his alarm clock, which states that it’s getting close to 1a.m, tells him that it’s definitely not one of the clowns he’s hired doing some extra work. He gets out of bed quickly, sparing a glance through the curtains and there’s shadowy silhouettes moving in the yard outside, near the outline of the pick-up truck. Kihyun feels his heart beat loudly against his ribs as he pulls clothes over his pyjamas, and he should probably call the police but they will never be here on time. So he softly pads down the corridor instead, leaving the lights off not to alarm whoever is outside, and wakes Hyunwoo by knocking forcefully at his door.

“Wha–” is the bleary answer he gets when Hyunwoo opens it, face rumpled by sleep, hair a mess. It would be funny, in any other circumstances.

“I think we’re being robbed,” Kihyun says quickly, “I heard noise and saw people outside.”

“Shit,” Hyunwoo says, and it’s a bit astonishing how quickly he shifts from drowsy to wide-awake. Kihyun waits in the corridor as Hyunwoo summarily gets dressed, and they creep towards the back of the house, Kihyun’s ears pricked for the tell-tale sounds of the truck’s engine turning on.

They make it to the back door, Kihyun grabbing the old hand axe resting in the lobby before stepping outside, Hyunwoo following, clutching a mattock. They step around the house, Hyunwoo creeping towards the porch as Kihyun pads near the truck where a lone silhouette is waiting. At Kihyun’s signal, Hyunwoo turns on the glaring porch lights, and Kihyun raises his axe above his head.

“Who the fuck are you?!” he yells to the man, who turns, screams, and promptly falls on his ass.

“Jooheon?!” Kihyun yells some more, letting his arms down to put the axe on the floor. Jooheon is staring at him from his place on the ground, a hand on his chest as if to prevent his heart from galloping out.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck I almost died,” he says, pale and sweaty. Kihyun kind of wants to laugh, but then someone else screeches, and when he raises his head Hyunwoo has an armful of both Minhyuk and Changkyun.

“I found those two near the storage,” he says, his charges looking appropriately contrite.

“What the hell is going on?” Kihyun asks, until what has been bothering him since he stepped outside finally comes to the forefront of his mind. It’s the smell. The very unpleasant, very familiar smell.

“Is this–” he asks, sniffing the air. “Are you guys–” he tries again, walking towards the back of the truck while all three bozos exchange panicked looks.

“Okay,” Kihyun says once he reaches the truck’s bed, “can someone explain why there’s like, a ton of manure sitting there?”

He looks back at the three culprits, who have lined up against the porch, in order of height no less. They glance at each other until Changkyun pushes Minhyuk forwards, who glares back at him as he stumbles.

“Well, as the designated spokes-person,” he says, glaring anew at Changkyun who grins at him, “it’s just, you know. We needed manure.”

“For what?” Kihyun says with all the patience he doesn’t feel.

“For fertilizing. A lawn.”

“Who’s lawn?”

Minhyuk glances back again, Jooheon mouthing something at him, and it goes back and forth for a solid minute before Kihyun clears his throat and Minhyuk’s gaze jumps back to him.

“Well, erm.”

“It’s royal wedding hall,” Kihyun hears Changkyun mumble behind Minhyuk.

“What?” he says, because, really, what?

“Royal wedding hall!” Changkyun repeats, louder. “Because, you know. They’re full of shit.”

And then Changkyun bites his lips, and there’s tears in Jooheon’s eyes, and Minhyuk fails to disguise his snort as a cough.

“Get it?” Changkyun adds, because apparently this warrants further explanation. “Cause then like, they’ll be like… literally… literally full of shit.”

And then he snickers, and seems to remember himself, and tries his hardest to school his features into something sensible.

“So let me get this straight,” Kihyun says slowly, “this is retribution, but also a pun?”

“Yeah,” Minhyuk says, and it looks almost painful, the way he’s trying not to laugh. Kihyun sighs, holding his hand out.

“Give me the keys.”

“What?” Minhyuk says, sobering up.

“The keys, give them to me.”

“Oh, come on,” Minhyuk lets out in a tiny voice as he deflates, rooting around his pockets for his set of keys he gives to Kihyun.

“I’m not letting you drive my truck at night,” Kihyun says simply, turning back to climb into the truck in a stunned silence. He leans around the open door, looking at them.

“What are you guys doing? Finish loading up.”

“I respect you so much,” Jooheon lets out in a breath before scurrying after Minhyuk and Changkyun.

Hyunwoo comes up to the window, half laughing.

“I’ll stay here in case Hyungwon wakes up and finds the house empty,” he says, Kihyun nodding. “And also I’m tired,” he adds, stifling a yawn, his sleepy demeanour coming back to him now that the danger is passed.

“Have fun committing petty crimes,” he waves Kihyun off as he turns back to the house, Kihyun smiling as he settles more comfortably into the worn driver seat.

“We’re ready,” Jooheon says then, climbing in, Changkyun squeezing himself after him and tugging the door shut.

“How did you convince Minhyuk to sit in the back with the manure?” Kihyun asks, an eyebrow raised.

“We paid him,” is Changkyun’s answer, and Kihyun laughs, turning on the engine. Despite the chill of the night he feels warm, exhaustion receding in favour of a childish giddiness as he drives towards the town, Jooheon babbling away with Changkyun, Minhyuk’s silhouette pressed up against the rear window. It nests between his ribs, soft and soothing and it’s alright, Kihyun thinks, like this, it is fine.

  
  


  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again it took me a while to update! Thank you to everyone who's sticking with this story.  
> Thank you for leaving comments and kudos, it means a lot - especially now when I'm going through a bit of a rough time, so thank you all for your support, it's one nice thing to look forward to :D
> 
> This chapter is extra stupid, so apologies in advance, and I hope you'll like it.

**1.**

It’s a calm, soft morning at the breakfast table, the light of the winter sun falling prettily on the wooden table. That is, until Jimin chokes on a piece of toast and starts spluttering, sending spit and crumbs flying.

“Good morning to you too,” Yoongi deadpans as he takes a seat at the table while Taehyung pats Jimin on the back. Jimin glares at him in an effort to look furious but the tears in his eyes sort of ruin the effect.

“Fuck you, I could have died,” he says once the fit has passed.

“‘ _Young man murdered by toast on the eve of his wedding’_ the tragic headline would read,” Yoongi enunciates as he picks a toast for himself from the plate on the table. Taehyung snorts, poorly disguising it as a cough at the offended glare Jimin gives him.

“Speaking of headlines, you don’t deserve to know but I’ll tell you anyway,” Jimin says, putting too much flair into sliding his phone over the table. “Someone dumped a truckload of manure on our wedding hall’s lawn.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen as he looks at the phone’s screen. The browser is opened on the local newspaper’s page and indeed, it’s there in bold letters. _Large quantity of manure dumped in front of local wedding hall, police called in_.

“Well fuck,” he says, looking up at Taehyung. “Did you do this?”

Taehyung squints at the screen and Yoongi has to wait for the fit of laughter to pass to get his answer.

“Oh man, I wish I did,” Taehyung says, giving his phone back to Jimin who scrolls through the article.

“It says police is on the scene and everything, it sounds like they found a corpse or something. Listen to this: ‘ _truck tire tracks were found_ _at the scene_ _and police is looking for a match. Suspicions_ _lean towards local farmers who might have been disgruntled by the city council awarding the land deal to private developers rather than_ _the_ _local farming cooperative.'"_

“Fight the power my dudes,” Taehyung says as Namjoon trudges into the kitchen, face still rumpled from sleep and hair sticking up every which way. He makes grabby hands for the pot of coffee discarded on the table, Yoongi tipping his chair back to reach a clean mug on the counter behind him.

“That land was sold years ago,” Namjoon says after a cursory reading of the article once he’s settled at the table. “I don’t think it’s the cooperative.”

“Who then?” Jimin asks, scrolling idly through the comments on the article.

“Well, I’d say you guys here have the perfect motive, but you lack the means.”

Taehyung hums, sipping at his coffee, before his gaze lightens up and he leans forward as if about to share a secret.

“You know who has means and knowledge of what they pulled on us, though?”

There’s a short silence, Jimin staring up from his phone with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t think Kihyun would be running around at night to dump shit on people’s lawn though,” he says, his eyes falling back to his phone. Yoongi freezes.

“Maybe not him. The lunatics working on his farm, though…”

Namjoon snorts, coughing down lukewarm coffee before speaking up.

“Okay yeah, Minhyuk definitely is into petty crimes, but like… They don’t like you guys enough for that, do they?”

“Maybe they acted on principle,” Jimin says, straightening up to stretch. “In any case, whoever it is I hope they don’t get caught.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi croaks, a very vivid image of Kihyun being dragged in handcuffs for poop related crimes at the back of his mind. What’s the penalty for smearing manure on people’s lawn? Would Kihyun let him visit in jail? Maybe they could build a tentative friendship that would turn to a star-crossed romance from behind bars. Yoongi would wait. Even years. It wouldn’t be years, though, would it?

“Yoongi?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts through his train of thoughts and Yoongi drags his gaze to him, staring expectantly.

“You got this look on your face for when you’re thinking stupid thoughts,” Taehyung just says, wetting his lips in his coffee. Next to him Jimin glances up, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not,” Yoongi says and Taehyung just stares back, unimpressed.

“Okay maybe I am. What do they risk, though?”

“No idea,” Taehyung shrugs, going back to drinking his coffee in the slowest way imaginable. He must be doing it on purpose.

“I don’t think they risk a lot, like maybe a fine, and to clean it up,” Namjoon says, “I’m not sure, though. Depends if the wedding hall people are assholes about it I guess.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, and then closes his mouth because really there is nothing to add, and his own thoughts embarrass him so much sometimes. Taehyung is still looking at him and Yoongi starts fidgeting in his chair, feeling like his forehead has started to broadcast his earlier prison fantasies like a movie screen just to humiliate him. He’s so dumb. It’s a miracle he made it this far, really.

“Yoongi,” Taehyung says, finally letting go of his coffee mug and Yoongi’s pretty sure he hears Jimin sigh in relief. “Seriously, turn your brain off.”

“I wish I could, man, I’m not even kidding,” he says and Taehyung laughs, shaking his head.

“You will tonight, we’re getting off the shits!” Jimin suddenly declares with slightly too much enthusiasm, knocking an elbow into Taehyung’s half empty mug. Yoongi watches Taehyung scramble to catch it before it spills until Jimin’s words finally register.

“Uh?” he says eloquently.

“Drinks with the farmboys. I’m pretty sure they did the heist.”

“Not a heist, and also, what?” Yoongi repeats, watching Jimin text with increasing dread.

“I asked Kihyun if he had anything to do with it. He didn’t say no and we’re having drinks together tonight. Like all of us, all of them, in a bar. With alcohol. You know, like we’re not unhinged.”

“I’m not unhinged,” Yoongi manages to croak out.

“You look it though,” Jimin says with a sly smile before going back to texting. It takes a lot for Yoongi not to just launch himself over the table and choke him out.

He manages to stay in place, though, and maybe this is a good thing after all. Meeting again on neutral grounds. In normal circumstances, no pumpkin head or blood on his face. His heart is still beating loud against his ribs, though, and Yoongi wonders if all that bravery he’d wished he had will come to him then, if he’ll be able to say what he had wanted to say, then and now. He must, Yoongi realizes then, he must, or the thorns in his side will burrow deep, too deep for relief.

  
  


**2.**

They’re gathering the breakfast dishes when there’s a knock at the door, reminding Kihyun once again that they should probably get around to fix the doorbell.

“Jooheon, can you get that?” he asks, busy rinsing out half full coffee mugs before dumping them in the dishwasher. Jooheon puts down the rag he was using to clean the table and Kihyun listens to his footsteps down the corridor, the sound of the door opening following suit. There’s the familiar sound of Gunhee’s voice before the door slams and Jooheon comes running back into the kitchen.

“The cops are here!” he yells as he skids to a halt at the threshold, startling Minhyuk into dropping the mop. Kihyun rolls his eyes, drying his hands on a dish rag as he turns towards the door.

“So the cops are here,” he says, Jooheon reddening exponentially as he speaks, “and your way of not acting suspicious is to slam the door in their faces and run back here yelling about how the cops are here?”

“We’re trapped like rats aren’t we,” Jooheon says in a whisper, looking crestfallen.

“Dude, relax,” Minhyuk says, putting the mop back where it belongs. “Besides, wasn’t it just Gunhee?”

“Yeah, it’s just me,” Gunhee himself says as he pushes past Jooheon to get into the kitchen. “You can unclench, man,” he adds for Jooheon’s benefit as he pulls a chair, sprawling over the table as Kihyun busies himself reheating the last of the coffee.

“I’m guessing you guys did it then,” he says, gratefully accepting the warm mug from Kihyun.

“Did what?” Jooheon croaks, Minhyuk rolling his eyes as he falls into a chair opposite Gunhee.

“How much trouble are we in?”

“Well,” Gunhee starts, looking down at the coffee with a frown. Jooheon made it. It’s disgusting. “I’m just a conscript so I’m not privy to the finer details but I don’t think anyone really cares, like it was mostly hilarious and then it’s just a bother to actually go around matching pictures to tires so I wouldn’t worry.”

“They really don’t give a fuck about their solve rates, uh,” Minhyuk says, trying and failing to conceal a smile.

“The commissioner is like 90 years old, we’re lucky he even remembers his own name,” Gunhee shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee and frowning down at the mug as if he’d already forgotten what it tasted like and was offended all over again.

“Plus the other guys are like, all local kids,” he continues, “they all have uncles or fathers or grandmothers in the cooperative, no one wants to push it. And honestly the wedding hall director is a stuck-up asshole with a Seoul accent so no one’s gonna put any real effort in,” Gunhee adds, shrugging.

“Wow, I sure hope you guys don’t get a real case like a murder or something,” Minhyuk says and Gunhee laughs, finally giving up on the coffee.

“They’d probably send hot shots city slickers if that ever happened. Anyway, if anyone asks, I came here to question you guys and I checked your truck and all, yeah?”

“Sure,” Kihyun says, “do you want a bite before you leave?”

“Nah I’m good, thanks. I gotta finish my rounds and go back to the station.”

“I’ll walk with you a bit,” Jooheon says, following him out of the kitchen.

“Aw,” Kihyun hears Gunhee’s mocking voice down the corridor, “you’re not scared of the mean cop anymore?”

There’s a slapping sound and a shriek before the front door opens and closes, and Kihyun gathers Gunhee’s mug, dumping the remains of the worst coffee of the decade into the sink before rinsing it out.

“Did he really say ‘city slicker’?” comes Minhyuk’s voice from behind him. “Like, unironically?”

“See what will happen to you if you stay here for too long?” Kihyun says as he puts the mug in the dishwasher and turns it on.

“Don’t laugh,” Minhyuk says, “I’m already slipping into the accent. And I’m getting muscles I didn’t even know existed.”

“That’s hot. You should go flex in front of Hyungwon.”

Something wet and cold hits him in the back and Kihyun turns to Minhyuk, who has reddened up to his ears, the mop flopping to the floor.

“Don’t says shit like this out loud! What if he hears?”

Kihyun shrugs, bending to pick up the mop and throw it in the sink.

“Well at least he’ll get an idea, you guys are painful to watch.”

“Speak for yourself, you spent yesterday mooning over concussion boy, all worried and fidgety.”

“Fuck you I did not!” Kihyun yells as Minhyuk cackles and, okay, maybe he did.

Yoongi hadn’t sent any news, but then again, why would he? They didn’t even exchange numbers. Kihyun didn’t _want_ Yoongito have his own number because then his treacherous mind would start imparting too much brain power into going over all the reasons why Yoongi would never text _him_ of all people. He wanted to have Yoongi’s number even less because then it would just sit there in his phone like the apple on the tree of knowledge and Kihyun didn’t need no talking snake to go and doom himself texting some idiocy he would regret forever at like 4a.m when he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t even _like_ the guy, for fuck’s sake, but just as this thought forms Kihyun knows it is a lie. He may not like him like he used to as a scared, lost teenager, but there was still something there, beating warm against his ribs and he is sure of one thing, then, his gaze dropping to his feet. He wants Yoongi to like him, he still wants Yoongi to like him so badly.

“Dude,” Minhyuk voice comes, “I can hear you overthink from here, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Kihyun snaps out of it, forcing a smile to his lips he can tell Minhyuk doesn’t buy. “I’m just,” he tries, forcing the words out. It’s hard, trying to be honest, trying to be open. “You’re right,” he finishes lamely, Minhyuk’s eyes widening.

“I am? Wow. I am so rarely right I forgot what it feels like.”

Kihyun laughs then, Minhyuk offering him a relieved smile and Kihyun lets himself fall in the chair opposite him, sprawling over the table with an exhausted sigh. Minhyuk treads his fingers in Kihyun’s hair, always giving affectionate touches so freely and Kihyun never knows how to return them, too awkward, maybe, too guarded, any insouciance, any eagerness beaten out of him. His friendships have always been tentative, too much efforts needed to get close to him and there’s so much things he keeps hidden still, so much things left unsaid. Maybe he could try, though, here on the cool kitchen table, Minhyuk’s gentle fingers threading warmth into his hair.

“I don’t know if I like him,” Kihyun says eventually, voice almost a whisper, “but I want him to like me. Are those the same thing?”

Minhyuk sighs, humming under his breath.

“I don’t know,” he says, “but for you to want someone to like you, there must be something you want from them.”

Kihyun closes his eyes, thinking back, back to Yoongi seated at the front of a bright classroom, his gentle profile turned to the window, the laughter of his friends and his own words echoing throughout Kihyun’s empty days. It had been that warmth he had wanted, that laugh, that gentle gaze and the sharp wits underneath it all. He had wanted to be someone worthy of it, someone worthy to stand by this pretty boy, sharing into his light, sharing into his days and hold his hand, sometimes, maybe, hear him whisper secrets into his ear and sit under the apple trees in the summer. But there was too much standing in between them. Cruel words and cruel hands, cold puddles and empty bathrooms to cry in.

“I don’t really know what happened between you guys,” Minhyuk is saying, voice gentle, almost too much so. “And I know it’s a bit laughable coming from me, but nothing will be resolved if you don’t talk about it. To him, I mean, not to me. Although you can tell me too, if you want.”

“I was in love with him,” Kihyun says then and it sounds so simple, laid there, bare against the wood of the table. Minhyuk’s hand stills in his hair for a split second before resuming as he remains silent, waiting, gently coaxing.

“For three years back in high school. He noticed me only once, I think. He bumped into me and I fell. All my textbooks scattered.”

“Are you telling me you guys had a hallway meet-cute?” Minhyuk asks and Kihyun chuckles; it’s almost funny, it is, how vastly different the situation could have been. Everything would have changed, if only Yoongi hadn’t laughed. If only Kihyun hadn’t been, well, Kihyun.

“Not really. We were outside. I fell into a puddle, he laughed and went on his way.”

Minhyuk’s hand stills once again, and this time he uses it to lift Kihyun’s head, staring at him.

“For real? What a fucking bitch,” he says and Kihyun laughs because yeah, he supposes the term is adequate.

“Thing is,” Kihyun says, “I might have done the same if I had been in his place. I was– you know, I was sort of a pariah. Kinda, like, you know. Not great. Being pushed into a puddle wasn’t that bad, honestly, compared to other stuff. And he would have been tainted by association. Everyone’s a coward at seventeen.”

“No,” Minhyuk says with so much intensity in his gaze Kihyun is a bit taken aback. “That’s not true. You wouldn’t have acted like he did. Someone should have helped you. Someone should have stood up for you because if I get what you’re saying right, what was happening – it was cruel and unfair. Not everyone is a coward at seventeen and you didn’t deserve this, no one does. It means nothing now but I swear that if any of us had been here teeth would have been a-flying, my dude. I bet Hoseok was already ripped. He’d have torn their heads clean off.”

There’s a wetness pushing behind Kihyun’s eyes, a warmth threading between his ribs and he’s laughing, he is, Minhyuk’s lopsided grin blurring through exhausted tears and there’s something to be found in the acknowledgement Minhyuk offers – cruel and unfair, undeserved, words he had told himself hundreds of time and never really believed. They ring different, coming from someone else. They ring true.

“You don’t know that,” he adds, not to be difficult but he doesn’t know how else to react. There is too much vulnerability, here, too much to acknowledge. “We might not even have been friends.”

“Nah, I know,” Minhyuk says with so much confidence Kihyun can only believe him. “You’re just that kinda person.”

“What kinda person?”

“The kinda person I like. Did you think I stayed because of my unbridled love of pumpkins? I stayed cause I liked you, and what you’re doing here, and I wanted to help, and I would have liked you back then too, because that’s who you are.”

Kihyun bites his lips, lowering his gaze because it’s getting too much, really. He wipes his eyes on his sleeves, sits back in his chair as a profound sigh leaves his chest.

“Okay,” he says then, “okay, I believe you.”

“Am I the bestest friend or what? Now help me hook up with your cousin.”

Kihyun guffaws, slapping Minhyuk’s hand he withdraws with a shriek.

“I’ve been trying!” Kihyun laments, “but you’re an idiot and Hyungwon’s denser than concrete.”

“Okay yes,” Minhyuk concedes, “but we have rights! It’s not our faults we’re like this.”

“I know,” Kihyun says, leaning forward to pat Minhyuk on the shoulder. “It’s nice you guys can’t have children. Combining you guys’ DNA would be a disaster.”

“Forget everything I said earlier,” Minhyuk says testily, “you’re the actual worst.”

Kihyun laughs and he feels lighter, he does, Minhyuk’s looking at him with that fond glint in his eyes he gets sometimes, the one that always make Kihyun uncomfortable, the one he seeks out anyway.

“For Yoongi, though,” Minhyuk starts then, a pensive look on his face. “Do you want him to apologize?”

“No,” Kihyun shakes his head. “It’s too late. But I want… I don’t know. Maybe for him to tell me he didn’t want this either. That he left me on my own like everyone else because that’s just how things were at the time. I don’t want him… I don’t want him to have despised me. I don’t want him to have thought I deserved it, somehow.”

Minhyuk nods, humming, a thoughtful look on his face.

“I still don’t feel bad about running him into a ditch.”

“Honestly, I don’t really feel bad about it either,” Kihyun whispers and they lock eyes, which starts a giggling fit only interrupted when Hoseok trudges into the room in his work clothes.

“You guys are still here?” he asks and Minhyuk turns to him, mock-offence plain on his face.

“Dude, we were having a moment,” he says carefully, too much pathos in each words.

“Oh shit, my bad,” Hoseok says immediately, eyes widening as Kihyun laughs.

“You’re fine, he’s bullshitting you. We’re moving,” he says, just as his phone vibrates in his pocket. Kihyun retrieves it, signalling to the others that he’ll follow.

Jimin’s name flashes on his screen, and Kihyun can feel a familiar knot of apprehension in his belly as he unlocks his phone.

_a_ _re you responsible for the manure on the wedding hall’s lawn?_

Kihyun laughs then, typing out a “no” in capital letters.

 _O_ _kay,_ comes Jimin’s answer. _For real tho?_

Kihyun debates telling him the truth for a second, and chooses the middle ground.

 _i_ _t was a good pun,_ he types, walking down the corridor. Hoseok is at the open door, framed in sunlight, smiling at whatever Minhyuk is telling him and Kihyun watches idly, a soft smile of his own gracing his lips.

 _What?_ Jimin’s puzzled answer comes in and Kihyun types while toeing one of his shoe on.

 _you know. They’re full of shit._ _In every sense now._ _It’s funny._

_o_ _h my god_

_Kihyun will suffice,_ Kihyun types, and in a moment of temporary insanity he adds a bunch of emojis.

_fheoizhg no!! this was terrible. I’m buying you a round tho. Or more like ten. You can’t say no!!_

Kihyun freezes in the middle of getting his second shoe, staring down at the words on the small screen. He glances up and Hoseok is looking at him with concern, Minhyuk’s sentence trailing off when he follows Hoseok’s gaze.

“You okay?” Hoseok asks and Kihyun shrugs, looking down at his screen.

_We’d be all in for tonight, what about u guys?_

“I just…” he starts, and really it’s too soon, way too soon. And years too late, too, and Kihyun always had the worst timing. He swallows on a dry throat, offers Hoseok a weak smile, and continues. “Do you guys wanna have drinks with Jimin tonight? And like, his pals. And husband. Fiance. Whatever.”

There’s a perplexed silence, Hoseok and Minhyuk exchanging a glance before Minhyuk tentatively speaks up.

“Will, erm, will like, _all_ his pals be there?”

Kihyun nods, eyes wide, and his grip on the phone is almost painful, the case digging into his palm.

“And you’d be fine with that?” Minhyuk continues, Hoseok shifting next to him, wide chest facing Kihyun as if he’d need to run and hide there. Kihyun’s looking at the man’s clavicle when he answers.

“I think so?”

“Not to be a pain but that doesn’t sound like a yes,” Minhyuk says carefully, Hoseok glancing at him before looking back at Kihyun who stares down at his phone when it vibrates in his hand. It’s a bunch of emojis from Jimin; clinking beer glasses, confetti, hearts and smiling faces.

Kihyun likes Jimin. And he does want to see him, it’s been a while after all, much too long since they could speak face to face and a strange thought occurs to him, then. If he had ever spoken up, Kihyun is sure that Jimin would have been on his side. He trusts him, Kihyun realizes, trusts him to be safe and caring just like Minhyuk and Hoseok standing there and the decision is made then – there is nothing to be afraid of after all, he won’t be alone, people will be there, people he trusts, people he loves, the kind he had always wanted and needed.

“Yeah, no, I’m sure,” he says then, and the smile he offers is genuine. Hoseok seems to release a held breath and smiles back, Minhyuk nodding to himself.

“Okay, great,” he says. “It’s been too long since we went out, honestly.”

“It’s been like a week,” Hoseok remarks, walking through the door, narrowly avoiding the kick Minhyuk sends his way. Kihyun finally finishes putting his shoes on, and texts Jimin everyone’s assent.

 _Yeehaw my dude,_ _I’ll send the time & place later_ comes Jimin’s reply, with another avalanche of emojis Kihyun tries not to cringe at. He sends back a thumbs up and pockets his phone as he follows Minhyuk through the door. He can see Jooheon’s banged up car parked in the driveway, hear Changkyun’s deep voice carried by the wind as they near the turnip patch. Alli bounds up to meet them, Hyunwoo walking behind him at a lazy pace. The air isn’t that cold yet, a clear sun shining down on them, any anguish chased off by the gentle warmth that unfurls in Kihyun’s chest. He’s fine, he is, he’s not alone anymore; Hyunwoo’s looking at Hoseok with a faint blush, Minhyuk’s furiously texting instead of looking where he’s walking and Jooheon laughs as he inevitably trips and curses copiously. Hyungwon’s crouched over a patch of beets with Changkyun, both staring for some unfathomable reason at the lonely beet he holds in his hands like a newborn kitten.

This is it, Kihyun thinks, this is him now, and he finds that he likes it, he likes the person he is now, the life that he has. And those ugly memories he keeps buried, this deep-seated grief for those long years lost to cruelty, they cannot change that, they cannot take away all that he built, all that he has, all that he is.

“Look,” Changkyun’s voice drifts to him and Kihyun looks up, ripped out of his thoughts. Changkyun is holding his beet by the leaves, dangling it for them all to see. “This beet has a butt,” he says, Hyungwon vigorously nodding in the background. Kihyun stares.

“I hate it here,” he says then, Hoseok patting his shoulder with commiseration.

“You hired him,” he reminds him helpfully, and Kihyun groans.

“It’s bringing the beet,” Hyungwon pipes up then. “Get it? Bringing the hea-”

“Finish this sentence and I’ll beat your ass,” Kihyun says evenly.

“Do you mean beet his ass?” Changkyun says, swinging the beet around like a flail.

“Someone kill me,” Kihyun sighs, just as Hyungwon unearths another beet to duel Changkyun under Minhyuk’s shrieked encouragements. Hoseok just laughs, keeping his hand on Kihyun’s shoulder, Hyunwoo glancing at him with a fond look.

Hoseok’s hand is warm on Kihyun’s shoulder, Changkyun’s laughter a rumble in his ears. And the warmth is still there, pulsing between his ribs like a second heartbeat.

  
  


**3.**

Yoongi is in a state. He thought only upper-class housewives in their forties could get in a state, and yet here he is.

“What is all this?” Taehyung asks when he steps in the living room, starring at the array of clothes Yoongi has thrown over the sofa-bed.

“I’m in a state,” Yoongi says, seated on the coffee table, head in his hands. There’s some ungodly sound coming from Taehyung’s vicinity and Yoongi lifts his gaze just in time to watch him choke on the lollipop he’s sucking on.

“Did you try to laugh at me?” Yoongi asks evenly when the coughing fit has passed.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, lollipop in hand, wiping tears on his sleeve.

“Serves you right then,” Yoongi says, looking back at the discarded clothes with a frown.

“Okay, okay,” Taehyung says, sitting next to him on the coffee table and slinging an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. “I’m here for you. What’s all this?” he asks, pointing at the clothes with a swipe of his wet lollipop. Yoongi grimaces.

“My clothes. I didn’t bring anything that says ‘I am chill and relaxed and just here to have some drinks like a normal person’.”

“That would make sense,” Taehyung says, “firstly clothes say nothing, and secondly you’re the least chill person I know.”

“I am very chill,” Yoongi counters, side-eyeing Taehyung who side-eyes him right back.

“That whole situation begs to differ,” Taehyung says pointedly and a faint blush rises to Yoongi’s cheeks.

“I used to be cool once,” he sighs, looking back at the disaster. And it’s true, once he didn’t care about what anyone thought of him, once he was walking his own path, wherever that may lead. But he had taken a wrong turn down the road and now he was sitting on a coffee table, having a mild crisis about meeting some guy he used to go to high school with.

“I don’t know how to break this to you,” Taehyung is saying, “but you were only ever cool from afar. One word out of your mouth and the illusion shatters.”

Yoongi pinches him, Taehyung yelps, and, well, maybe he’s right, but he doesn’t have to say it.

“Seriously though, this isn’t a big deal,” Taehyung says, slightly out of breath, once they stop fighting. “If this is about Kihyun, I mean, you’re both adults now, he knows you’ll be there and he agreed to go, so he must be fine with you. Or fine enough to tolerate you for the night.”

“This isn’t as comforting as you think it is,” Yoongi says dejectedly and Taehyung smiles, nudging his shoulder with his own.

“Just act normal,” Taehyung says, “and wear your black jeans. They give you a nice ass.”

“Why would my ass need to be nice?”

“Yoongi,” Taehyung says, “pull your head out of said ass and help me help you. You like that dude, right?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, his tongue feeling weirdly heavy.

“Then wear the black jeans.”

Yoongi does. He lets Jimin style his hair into something that looks messy on purpose and doesn’t balk at the concealer he forces on him next because, well, the man is right, Yoongi does look like he died and came back. It’s all good, really, Yoongi even manages to get sort of excited because, well, not counting the party it’s been a while since they have gone out all together like this. Taehyung and Jimin walk in front of Namjoon and him, arms linked, laughing to themselves and it’s just nice, really, seeing them so happy. It hadn’t always been easy.

Yoongi shoves his hands far inside his coat pockets, face half-hidden by the wool scarf wound around his neck. The nights are getting colder, autumn slowly crawling to an end and a soft heartache ignites in Yoongi’s chest. Winters have always felt especially lonely, snow muting sounds and colours, showing the world in its purest lines, barren and hostile. As life moves indoor it gets harder to pretend then, pretend that everything is okay, just as he wants it, pretend that there isn’t something missing, a meaning he lost along the way, a purpose he never really had.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks, bumping shoulders with him. “Got all quiet on me.”

“Sorry,” Yoongi says, “just, it’s getting cold.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon sighs, breath clouding into the air as he looks up towards the night sky. “I like it, though. The store gets more business. And I love winter food.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and Namjoon smiles bashfully, shoving Yoongi away from him.

“Don’t make fun of me, I’m a man of simple needs.”

“I’m not,” Yoongi says, taking the few steps to regain his place at Namjoon’s side. “It’s admirable, I think.”

“What is?”

“That you found what satisfies you.”

Namjoon hums, looking ahead at Jimin and Taehyung to make sure they’re still going the right way.

“It’s a choice, too, you know,” he says eventually. “It’s not easy everyday. But I decided I would be happy, that I would learn to find something valuable, something likeable in everything I have to do, that I would keep close the things I really love.”

“Is that why you stayed here?” Yoongi asks, “despite all of us leaving?”

Namjoon smiles, kicking a pebble onto the road.

“I’ve always loved this place. You guys always felt like you needed something bigger, but I didn’t. My family is here. The places I know and the places I love and the new friends that I made. I never felt like I needed something more. But maybe it’s just because I know myself. What I’m like.”

“What do you mean?” Yoongi asks, feeling like the conversation took a turn he didn’t expect.

Namjoon hesitates to answer, twisting his mouth as he bites on his lips. He sighs then, shrugs as if getting rid of unwanted thoughts.

“I just mean, for some reason I always knew who I was, what I needed. So I didn’t need to look for myself some place else. I already knew what I would find there.”

“Is that what I did?” Yoongi asks, and Namjoon looks to him as if he should know the answer.

“That’s not for me to say,” he says, “but… Well, are you happy? Did you find what you wanted?”

Yoongi shrugs, looking down at his feet. Everyone wanted to leave their backward little town for the big cities. Yoongi thought he did, too. Everyone was so sure this is when their lives would finally start, that something there was waiting for them. Yoongi had hoped the same. And yet he had been faced with the same want, the same restlessness, the same frustrations he already had. Nothing had changed, it had just faded in the background of his daily life, an everyday tedium that steadily wore him out until everything had the same taste, the same colours, the same touch. Yoongi sighs. He’s too young, really, to be this weary.

“Not really,” he says, because Namjoon is waiting for an answer and it’s not a satisfying one he knows, yet what else is there to say? Namjoon is about to speak when Taehyung lets out a woop, and when they look up he has stopped in front of a lively establishment, light and noise spilling on the pavement.

“It’s there, right?” he tells them when they reach him and Namjoon nods.

It’s an old place, quaint, a little outdated yet when they enter it’s almost full, lively voices and laughter spilling from every table, a busy ajumma walking up to them as soon as they cross the threshold.

“Auntie,” Namjoon greets, smiling, and she pats him on the arm with a wide smile.

“It’s been a while we’ve seen you! You need to relax more,” she says and Namjoon laughs, smiling back at her.

“I’m plenty relaxed, don’t worry,” he says and Yoongi watches, wondering if this is part of what Namjoon meant about belonging. People knowing you, people liking you. “Has Hyunwoo arrived? We were supposed to meet with him and–”

“Oh yes!” the woman interrupts Namjoon with slightly too much glee. “They’ve arrived alright. I put them at a nice table, the one at the back on the right.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon bows slightly, but before they can get on their way the woman laughs, walking back to the kitchen.

“Prepare for a shock!” she says with a wink, and disappears under the curtained opening. They stare after her in silence until Taehyung shuffles his feet, turning to Namjoon.

“Okay,” he says, “what was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies, shaking his head. “Guess we’ll see.”

They wind between the tables towards the back of the room, Yoongi’s heart beating way too loud against his ribs. His hands are clammy inside his pockets, and his throat’s dry. _It’s okay_ , he tells himself, _just act normal_. And then Hyunwoo’s table comes into view, and, well. Auntie wasn’t wrong about preparing for a shock.

  
  


**4.**

“Minhyuk, no,” Kihyun says for the umpteenth time.

“Minhyuk yes,” Minhyuk replies for the exact same amount.

“Godamnit,” Kihyun barks, “you’re not the boss of me. _I’m_ the boss of you. Quite literally!”

“You need some change in your life,” Minhyuk says as if he’s imparting age-old wisdom.

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with dying my hair,” Kihyun retorts and Minhyuk sighs.

“It has _everything_ to do with dying your hair. It’s the symbolism!”

“The symbolism of what?” Kihyun asks and regrets it almost instantly when he sees the smile plastered on Minhyuk’s idiot face.

“You know how people cut their hair when they go through important events.”

“They do that?” Kihyun asks dubiously and Minhyuk waves him off.

“You gotta do the same. Show people you’re a new person. Show them you’re cool.”

“That’s a shitty symbolism,” Kihyun says and Minhyuk tuts. On the other side of the table, Jooheon and Changkyun are both staring at them with very tired faces, nursing equally huge mugs of hot cocoa.

“Can you say yes?” Changkyun asks then, “just so that he would shut up?”

Kihyun snarls at him and it’s then that Minhyuk gasps in inspiration, all eyes falling to him.

“If you say yes,” he says slowly, enunciating each words, “I will trim the trees in the orchard.”

Silence falls at the table. The air in the kitchen seems colder, suddenly. Heavier, too, and Kihyun can see Jooheon and Changkyun staring at him as they await his response with baited breath.

“For real?” Kihyun asks in a small voice. This is too good to be true.

“Yes,” Minhyuk says with confidence, “I’ll do it all by myself.”

Kihyun can almost feel both Jooheon and Changkyun’s stare turn pleading just as his heart beats loudly against his ribs. He hates trimming the trees. Everybody does. It’s the absolute worst, especially when it’s getting cold. And maybe, just maybe, sacrificing his hair would be a worthy price to pay.

“Which colour did you want again?” he asks tentatively and Minhyuk moves slowly then, as if not to spook him, to retrieve a small box from who knows where he carefully puts on the table.

“This nice strawberry colour. It’s not tacky. It would fit your complexion very well.”

Jooheon and Changkyun are both nodding furiously but Kihyun cannot trust their opinion; the stakes are too high. He stares at the picture on the box, a pretty woman smiling back at him, showing off her pretty, strawberry hair. It’s true that it’s not so bad. That maybe, only maybe, he could pull it off. Kihyun knits his hands together below his chin, staring at Minhyuk thoughtfully.

“If I do this,” he says slowly and he hears Jooheon gasps, but his stare remains focused on Minhyuk, who tries to school his features in an appropriately solemn expression. “If I do this, you will have a deadline, for the orchard. And I want everything in writing, dated, signed, and with your seal on it.”

“That’s fair,” Minhyuk says, reclining back in his chair. “I accept.”

“Changkyun,” Kihyun says then without glancing away from Minhyuk, “paper and pen, please.”

“Yes sir!” Kihyun hears Changkyun say as his chair scrapes onto the kitchen tiles. He’s back quickly, placing in front of Kihyun a blank sheet of paper and Hyunwoo’s fancy fountain pen.

The contract is drawn under ten minutes, Minhyuk spending the next fifteen looking for his name seal.

“I never sign goddamn anything,” he says as an excuse when he finally stamps the paper, right next to Kihyun’s own red seal.

Kihyun gathers the paper into a laminated folder he cradles to his chest, feeling oddly like something major has just happened when really, they’re just being idiots for the sake of absolutely nothing.

“Imma set up the bathroom,” Minhyuk says with a smile and Kihyun watches him saunter out of the room with creeping dread. Maybe this was a mistake, but it’s too late, really. And a trimmed orchard with zero effort is worth a few months of strawberry hair, he guesses.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Changkyun tells him then, a hand squeezing his shoulder as Jooheon nods quietly beside him. “We will never forget what you did for us.”

“This is gonna be terrible isn’t it,” Kihyun says, and it’s not even a question.

“Oh yes,” Jooheon nods, “r.i.p your hair.”

Kihyun moans, Changkyun patting his shoulder pitifully. It’s too late to backtrack now, they signed a contract.

“Why do I do half the things I do?” Kihyun asks then, without really expecting an answer. Jooheon gives him one anyway.

“For the drama of it all,” he says and, well, he’s probably right. Not everything needs a reason anyway.

“Guess I should go,” Kihyun sighs with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man.

The whole ordeal takes way too much time. Minhyuk insists he must bleach Kihyun’s hair first, which wasn’t in the contract but what can you do, then Hyungwon shows up when he hears the screams, and everything devolves from there. Half the sink is covered in purple splatters. Hyungwon somehow manages to make his encouragements sound like threats, and when the noise drags Hyunwoo from his study the already overcrowded bathroom turns barely breathable. Kihyun is mushed against the sink, Minhyuk plastered against his back, tugging on his hair and there is no way this is remotely professional.

“This feels like a mistake,” Kihyun croaks out when someone’s pointy elbow bumps him in the shoulder.

“It’s the best decision of your life,” Minhyuk answers, slathering some more chemicals onto Kihyun’s abused scalp.

“If I end up bald I’ll kill you,” Kihyun says evenly.

“You won’t,” Minhyuk answers after a pause and really, this doesn’t inspire confidence at all.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” Minhyuk says.

“No,” Changkyun’s voice helpfully contradicts him and Kihyun hadn’t even noticed him sneaking in there.

“You’re gonna be sexy,” Minhyuk adds, tugging on a strand as if to drive his point home. Kihyun yelps, and swats at Minhyuk’s hands uselessly.

“Stay still or imma mess up,” Minhyuk groans and Kihyun scrunches up his nose, glancing at himself in the mirror. He looks like a blob vomited purple slime all over his head. It’s disgusting.

“I don’t feel so good,” Hyungwon’s voice reaches him from somewhere near the floor and Kihyun glances down to find him leaning against the bathtub, looking a little green.

“We’ve been inhaling fumes for like half an hour,” Hyunwoo says from the threshold, “should have probably cracked a window open.”

“Where did you even find this stuff?” Jooheon asks then and oh, he’s here too, Kihyun realizes.

“The corner store,” Minhyuk answers, patting Kihyun’s head with gloved hands and that’s not really how you’re supposed to go about it, but, well.

“The corner store sells hair-dyes?” Hyunwoo asks, Kihyun catching his bewildered expression in the mirror. He tries to communicate his distress through the same means, but Hyunwoo is staring at Minhyuk.

“Not all the time,” Minhyuk says hesitantly and this is getting better by the minute, Kihyun thinks.

“There,” Minhyuk continues, obviously trying to bury the subject. “It just needs to sit for a couple hours.”

Minhyuk has gathered all of Kihyun’s hair in some sort of faux-hawk at the top of his head and Kihyun wonders in passing if the pretty woman on the hair-dye box ever looked liked this, sad and covered in slime. It then occurs to Kihyun that hair-dye really isn’t supposed to be slimy.

“Oh god, I’m gonna lose all my hair,” he blurts, staring at the mess.

“Nah,” Minhyuk says helpfully.

It’s then that Hoseok appears at the door, squeezing his big frame next to Hyunwoo’s equally big one. Standing there at the threshold they both look like some sort of bouncers for the world’s worst hair salon.

“What are you guys doing?” he asks, stifling a gasp as his gaze lands on Kihyun. Kihyun appreciates the effort, and feels a bit like crying.

“Ruining Kihyun’s life,” Changkyun answers with way too much glee.

“It’s in exchange for free labour,” Minhyuk points out, as if that made any of this any better. It’s not even accurate.

“It’s not free,” Kihyun feels the need to correct. “I still pay you at the end of the month.”

“But like, no tree trimming bonus.”

“There was never a tree trimming bonus.”

“See,” Minhyuk says then, “that’s why no one ever wants to do it.”

“I wouldn’t do it even if he paid me,” Changkyun supplies and Kihyun’s head falls over the counter with a thwack. He almost jumps back up in horror when something cold and slightly wet grips his hand but when he looks down Hyungwon is sitting there, holding onto him in a gesture he must think comforting.

“Why are you wet?” Kihyun asks in a tired voice.

“I don’t know,” Hyungwon answers.

“Okay,” Kihyun says, and closes his eyes.

He may have fallen asleep for a second there, or the fumes have finally gotten to his head; in any case, the next thing Kihyun registers is Minhyuk braying for him to bend over the bathtub in order to rinse out the sad, sad mess atop his head. There’s the whirling sound of the hairdryer then, and Minhyuk’s expression growing steadily worse as he attempts to style Kihyun’s bangs. Kihyun stubbornly refuses to look towards the mirror. Not even when Minhyuk takes a step back to admire his handiwork, and the smile he plasters on his face is the fakest one Kihyun has ever seen.

“It’s, er. Looking great.”

Kihyun stares at him silently, watching with interest as Minhyuk slowly crumbles under his stare.

“Slightly, erm, lighter than I though it’d be. Brighter, too. But it suits you!”

Kihyun looks behind him at the rest of the circus amassed near the door. Changkyun is very obviously biting his lips to prevent himself from screaming, or laughing, or both. Hyunwoo looks horrified. Hoseok is making a superhuman effort to appear normal, only betrayed by the death grip he has on Hyunwoo’s arm. Jooheon’s mouth is gaping open, and Hyungwon, leaning against him, is, well… Hyungwon is the only one not looking horrified. Instead he looks bizarrely entranced, which cements the dread in Kihyun’s stomach.

“You look amazing, Kihyun,” Hyungwon says, all eyes falling to him with varying degrees of horrified disbelief, “it’s so good, I love it,” he continues. Kihyun is overcome with dread.

“Do I need to commit a murder?” he asks, and watches silently as they all stare amongst themselves like panicked rabbits before Jooheon finally takes the plunge.

“Depends how you feel about traffic cones,” he croaks, Changkyun elbowing him in the side.

It’s then that Kihyun knows something irreversible has happened. Something that will scar him forever. He wets his lips, slowly turning on his stool to finally face the mirror, dread coiled tight in his stomach. Minhyuk looks like he’s going to explode any second. Kihyun’s stare finally alights on the mirror.

“Lee Minhyuk,” he says slowly after a few seconds of contemplation. Minhyuk snaps at attention, Kihyun taking the time to stretch out his arms before continuing.

“You have, like, three seconds to start running before I rip out your throat with my teeth.”

“It’s not so bad!” Minhyuk wails.

“It is,” Kihyun says sadly. “It really is. I look, I look like, like a–”

  
  


**5.**

“Pumpkin,” the word tumbles out of Yoongi’s mouth before he can stop it, the mortification instantly felt. Kihyun looks sharply to him, and the scowl on his face would have Yoongi step back if Taehyung wasn’t standing right behind him.

“I– I mean–” Yoongi tries again, his brain firing on empty as he watches Kihyun’s expression darken further. This really isn’t the entrance he wanted to make. Somewhere behind him Taehyung is laughing and Yoongi wishes for the floor to open up and swallow him yet nothing happens, beside Kihyun turning angrily at the guy sitting next to him.

“Lee Minhyuk,” he snarls, “I will kill you, and eat your corpse.”

“A-ha,” Minhyuk says lamely, leaning back against the third guy on the bench; it’s Hyunwoo, who looks back to Yoongi’s group with an almost apologetic look that morphs to a raised eyebrow when his gaze lands on Yoongi. _Like, really?_ it seems to say, and Yoongi cringes.

“I’m too cute to die,” Minhyuk is saying, his hands raised, and promptly yelps when Kihyun darts his chin towards him in a threatening gesture that has the poor guy lean further into Hyunwoo, who’s looking sufficiently unfazed for Yoongi to guess that these type of things must happen often enough.

Kihyun leans back then, grabbing a black beanie from the pile of clothes on his other side that he shoves onto his hair, effectively hiding the strands dyed the kind of orange that is too bright for human eyes. He proceeds to cross his arms over his chest, sinking into his seat, staring sulkily ahead at nothing.

“Don’t mind him,” a lanky guy says, who Yoongi clearly recognizes as the one who ran him over. “He’s been like this since we left the house.”

The guy offers a slightly dopey smile then, gesturing to the empty seats at the table. They have to huddle close together so that everyone can fit, and Yoongi finds himself mushed between his would-be murderer – Hyungwon, he learns quickly – and Taehyung’s gangly frame. Kihyun is sitting opposite him, a bit diagonally, and is decidedly not looking his way. Yoongi can feel how hot his face still is, and a glance at Kihyun’s sulky face suffices to reignites the blush on his cheeks. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it though; makgeolli bowls are passed down the table, Hoseok yelling for more bottles and additional food a too-young looking part-timer scribbles on a notepad.

It feels almost normal, then. The conversation quickly goes to the wedding; Jimin, seated at the head of the table, spares no details and Yoongi is relieved to see everyone indulge him, asking him questions he’s delighted to answer. The makgeolli is quick to arrive and Hyunwoo takes upon himself to fill everyone’s bowls without preambles. They toast, the conversation settling naturally, only interrupted when the food arrive, greasy pajeon and enough banchan to feed a small army. It’s nice, Yoongi realizes then, warm and lively, something he had missed. Yet Kihyun still isn’t looking at him, engrossed in conversation with Minhyuk and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He already fucked it up.

Hyungwon elbows him then, gesturing to the plate of gamjajeon when Yoongi looks his way. Yoongi brings it within his reach, Hyungwon thanking him with a dopey smile and Yoongi wonders then if it’s on purpose that the guy sat at the far end of the table, where he can see everyone and easily drift off if he wishes, too. Yoongi remembers the Halloween party, how he had fallen against Kihyun, synthetic blue hair covering half his face. _I’m tired_ , he’d said despite how early it still was, and Kihyun had wasted no time in taking him away.

“I’m sorry I almost killed you,” Hyungwon whispers then and Yoongi laughs, waving him off.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t that serious. Never been in a ditch before, it was better than expected.”

Hyungwon laughs, a sound that has Kihyun glancing at them, something sharp and searching. He must find the reassurance he needs as he dives back into conversation with Minhyuk, yet he keeps glancing their way as Yoongi keeps dragging more plates towards himself for Hyungwon to sample, and refills his bowl whenever he asks. The guy is funny, Yoongi realizes, a dreamy quality to him that adds depths to his pretty face and Yoongi finds that he likes him, his weird bluntness and off-beat humour.

Hoseok’s burst of laughter has them both look up, and he’s laughing at something Hyunwoo said, a faint blush rising to the latter’s cheek.

“They like each other,” Hyungwon whispers then as if he’s sharing state secrets. “But they’re both being moronic about it so nothing’s happening.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Kihyun speaks up then and Yoongi turns to stare, watching as Kihyun’s lip curl when he catches his gaze.

“Hey,” Yoongi starts lamely, keeping Kihyun’s gaze on him. “I’m sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just surprised.”

Kihyun looks to him with a calculating stare and seems to reach a conclusion as his gaze softens, and he shrugs, looking down at his drink.

“It’s okay,” he says in a surprisingly even tone. “I know how it looks.”

“It’s not that bad,” Yoongi blurts and, well, it’s true. It’s certainly a bold choice, but once you get over the temporary blindness induced by the sheer intensity of the dye it actually sort of suits him. “I guess you have the type of face that suits everything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kihyun looks up sharply and Yoongi’s slightly taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. Kihyun’s eyes are dark, darker than Yoongi remembers, framed by pretty lashes and a familiar ache unfurls in his belly, something wistful too much like yearning and he wishes he could reach out and touch, tell Kihyun that all his regrets have the shape of his face, the weight of his fleeting smiles. Instead he stares for a bit too long, long enough for Kihyun’s inquiring stare to morph into a frown

“I meant, like, it shouldn’t look good, but on you it does,” Yoongi finally ventures, and he really wishes he could shut up but for some reason he just keeps going. “Because you’re, you know,” he says lamely, topping it off with a vague gesture in Kihyun’s direction. Next to him Taehyung snorts, but when Yoongi glances at him he’s absorbed in an animated discussion with the deep-voiced guy on his right. Changkyun, or something.

“I don’t know,” Kihyun says then, bringing back his attention to himself. “I’m what?”

And he’s really going to make him say it, Yoongi thinks in passing, looking on from a removed corner of his mind. He’s tempted to down his bowl of makgeolli but this wouldn’t be near enough to just make him pass out so he doesn’t have to deal with this situation anymore.

“Well,” he says eloquently, “you’re, like, pretty.”

Kihyun just stares. For what feels like the longest goddamn time, and Yoongi’s this close to start squirming when Hyungwon, who’s existence Yoongi had completely forgotten, loudly scrapes his stool back and gets up.

“This is painful to watch,” he says, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Yoongi cranes his neck to watch him waddle down between the tables, feeling distinctly like his first mate abandoned ship. He reasons it would be way too lame to just call after him and he looks back, an awkward smile plastered on his lips. But Kihyun is blushing, picking at the chunk of haemulpajeon left in his plate with his chopsticks and Yoongi stares, because he was right, Kihyun _is_ pretty.

“Stop staring,” Kihyun mumbles then, looking up from below the beanie and he’s still blushing, even if the intensity of his gaze suggests he’d be ready to fight at the first hint of mockery.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Yoongi asks then, and he’s not only referring to his comment about Kihyun’s face. He knows what his presence does to Kihyun, knows what it dredges up, and this is too nice a night to ruin with him being there. If Kihyun wants him to go, he will.

Kihyun bites his lips, reclining back against the wall as he puts his chopsticks neatly on the side of his plate. He watches Yoongi thoughtfully, a sigh escaping him when he answers.

“I don’t know what your deal is,” he says softly, and immediately Yoongi picks up on the vulnerability hidden between the words, the deep unease buried there. There is no pretending nothing happened between them, there is no ignoring all the hurt Yoongi had caused, all the cruelty he had watched pour on Kihyun, no attempts made to stop the onslaught. But there is no meaning in apologizing now, and Yoongi remembers what Namjoon had said, about getting to know him, about making the most of the present. So Yoongi just say whatever he feels, for once, even if it’s stupid, even if it’s not nearly enough.

“I just – I think you’re neat.”

“What?” Kihyun asks with an incredulous laugh, hands coming to rest on the rim of his drink. He takes a sip when Yoongi shrugs, his throat working as he swallows. Yoongi stares, if only a little bit.

“Coming back here, taking care of the farm. That’s pretty impressive,” he says, Kihyun looking at him with a raised eyebrow above his makgeolli bowl. “And like, I had fun at the Halloween party. With you. Well, I didn’t know it was you back then, but yeah. There’s that.”

Kihyun puts his bowl back down, licking his lips for any stray drop, or for sending Yoongi into a panic, Yoongi isn’t so sure, too busy to stop himself from staring to form any coherent thoughts.

“Alright,” Kihyun says slowly, and he’s about to add something when Yoongi barrels on, unbidden.

“I remember you from high school,” he blurts, and watches as Kihyun’s eyes widen, as his face sharpens. Yoongi misses how next to Kihyun, Minhyuk has ceased talking with Jooheon and Namjoon, how he’s leaning into Kihyun’s side as Kihyun stares on with a trapped gaze.

“I pushed you down one time, right? It was on accident but then I was scared that someone would see me help you up and give me shit later, too. So like, I kept on walking.”

“I remember, yeah,” Kihyun says icily, his jaw working. Yoongi isn’t sure where he’s going with this but there’s something he wants to say and somehow this feels like the right time. All of Kihyun’s friends are here, there’s alcohol to throw in his face and chopsticks to stab him with and if Kihyun wants to leave he can, if Kihyun wants him thrown out Yoongi will comply. This is Kihyun’s territory, the safest he’ll ever be. And so, Yoongi keeps going.

“I kept thinking about it afterwards. Until now, I mean, it still comes up from time to time.”

“I don’t really care,” Kihyun says but there’s no heat behind the words, his stare falling to his plate, and Yoongi realizes that next to him Minhyuk is listening in despite seemingly engrossed in whatever Namjoon has to say, his hand grabbing Kihyun’s under the table. Yoongi is grateful for him, then. Grateful for all of them, weaving a cocoon of familiar voices and protective warmth around Kihyun seated there, staring with guarded eyes.

“Yeah, you don’t have to,” Yoongi says, “I just meant that it’s been eating at me, how much of a coward I was. We all were. Sometimes I look back and I can’t understand why we would just stand by and do nothing, what was going on in our heads. In my head.”

“Is this an apology?” Kihyun asks then, his head coked to the side and there’s a bright strand escaping from the black beanie he’s wearing, caressing the edge of his cheekbone.

“Do you want it to be?” Yoongi asks and Kihyun raises an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth quirking up. He remains silent, though, but there’s an interest in his eyes that didn’t used to be.

“I don’t think any apology I could make would be worth you accepting it,” Yoongi says then and Kihyun hums, nodding. Before he can formulate any answer the empty stool next to Yoongi is suddenly full of Hyungwon’s sprawling limbs, who bumps shoulder with Yoongi before stealing a chunk of gamjajeon from his plate.

“Is it better now?” he asks, grabbing the pot of makgeolli to pour himself a bowl.

“Depends,” Kihyun says, turning to him. “How did you feel about high school?”

“Sucked,” Hyungwon answers tersely, taking a hearty sip. “Oh right,” he says then, “you guys knew each other back then, right?”

“Yeah,” Kihyun says, looking down at his plate as Hyungwon turns to Yoongi.

“How was he?” he asks, chin jutting in Kihyun’s direction. Yoongi stares, then stares at Kihyun, who’s looking back to him with something akin to a challenge.

“He was– he was a very good student,” Yoongi ventures, Hyungwon rolling his eyes as he shoves a piece of gamjajeon into his mouth, barely chewing.

“Lame,” he says, and if Kihyun’s curled lip is anything to go by, his opinion is shared. Yoongi takes a sip of his drink, and tries again.

“He would sit at the back of the class all the time, near the window,” he starts and Hyungwon looks back to him, shoving more food into his mouth, interest evidently unfeigned.

“There was a playing field right in front,” Yoongi continues, “and he’d stare at that. In summer the window would be opened and he leaned on the sill and watched us play. He had really dark hair. Shorter than now, like this kinda silly, slicked back style, but on him it looked fine. His uniform was always super neat and he had glasses, it made him look older than us. Sort of intimidating sometimes, or like, just kinda off, you know, way different from the mess we were. And he was super smart so it was like, who is this thirty five years old accountant.”

Hyungwon laughs, his face growing more animated and that steals a smile from Yoongi who keeps going just to see the guy enjoy himself, and, because, well. It’s nice, talking about Kihyun like this, about these memories of him he had carried for all these years, wondering what had become of him, if he would ever bump into him on the streets, and what he would say then. He doesn’t look back at Kihyun while he speaks, not once. He just lets the words pour out of himself, wherever they may lead.

“He was very quiet. I think I only heard him speak when the teachers called on him. Ah, and this one time, too, but like, he wasn’t really speaking then.”

The abandoned bathroom, the sobs, and Yoongi standing there, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, not knowing what to do. He falls quiet then; this memory is different from the rest he knows, this memory is where all could have changed. He just stayed there, though, listening in, keeping watch. But Hyungwon is prodding, watching with wide eyes, cheeks bulging with food.

“What was he doing?” he’s asking, washing down a particularly large piece of pajeon with a hearty swig of makgeolli.

“Just, like, you know,” Yoongi starts, tentative. “Some shitty thing had happened and I guess he needed to decompress? So he locked himself in that bathroom no one used cause it was way far off. But I was there too cause you could sneak to the roof from that corridor and well, anyway, I heard him.”

There’s a muted gasp from Kihyun’s side, Hyungwon glancing hesitantly at him but Yoongi keeps his gaze steady on Hyungwon’s face.

“And so I kinda just stood there like an idiot and those first years showed up, to make out or something, and I scared them off. And then I just kinda stayed there acting like a bouncer until I heard him move and then I scrammed. I don’t really know why I did that.”

It had felt right, at the time. Something he could do for Kihyun, even if he would never know, even if it was insignificant in the grand scheme of his misery.

“And so, yeah,” Yoongi finishes lamely. Hyungwon is watching him thoughtfully, something soft in his gaze Yoongi doesn’t know how to interpret.

“Was he already pretty back then?” he ends up asking with a sly smile and Yoongi can feel himself blush, his gaze dropping to the table.

“Yeah,” he says, “he already was.”

“You–” Kihyun blurts, Yoongi’s gaze lifting sharply at the sound. Kihyun interrupts himself, swallows, looks to the side when he finally speaks.

“You remember me pretty well,” he says quietly, looking at Yoongi through his eyelashes.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, “I guess I must have watched you a lot.”

“Why?”

“I told you,” Yoongi says with a smile, “you were pretty.”

Kihyun stares, wide-eyed and blushing, before his gaze drops to the table. They remain silent for what feels to Yoongi like a millennia, until Kihyun grows agitated, pushing back his plate and sliding down the empty end of the bench.

“I’ll just– I’ll get some fresh air,” he says lamely before all but running away. Yoongi watches him go until a sharp kick under the table has him yelp and when he looks back Minhyuk is staring at him with a half-amused expression.

“Not gonna lie that was pretty smooth,” he says, “you should go after him now. I’m watching you, though,” he adds, doing a complicated gesture with his hands Yoongi judges safe to interpret as the most awkward death threat in the universe.

“Have you ever considered miming as a career?” he asks before Minhyuk throws a pepper at him and Yoongi finally scrams, in time to see Kihyun disappear through the front door of the shop.

  
  


**6.**

It’s cold outside, the crisp air hitting Kihyun down to his bones after the warmth of the bar and he regrets forgetting his coat in his haste to leave. It’s moments like these that he wishes he would smoke, something to do to calm his trembling fingers and fill his lungs with something other than the sudden angst that overcame him as Yoongi spoke. He leans against the wall behind him, lifting his eyes to the night sky; the moon is almost full, hanging heavy in the cloudless sky. Days will keep getting shorter until the solstice and Kihyun wonders if they’ll celebrate it again this year, and who will be there. It had only been Hyungwon, Hoseok and him the last time, a quiet affair, all three huddled in the living room over warm sake and it had been nice, really, something he had needed.

One thing is sure, though. Yoongi will be gone by then, and Kihyun wonders why someone so transient is allowed to have this much effect on him. This is all ephemeral, no matter what Yoongi says, no matter how much he might have thought of Kihyun, no matter the weight of his regrets. Kihyun sighs, Yoongi’s words still echoing in his mind, words he never thought he’d hear. _I must have watched you a lot_ , Yoongi had said, and it must have been true; he remembered Kihyun much too well, and something bitter unfurls between his ribs. _You were pretty_ , and Kihyun smiles sadly, kicking a pebble into the road. It feels like such a waste, like everything could have been so much different, if only, if only what? There had never been a real reason for his torments, nothing that could have made it better. So many things wasted, so many things broken, pieces he had barely mended cracking again.

Kihyun drops in a squat, rubbing his face in his hands; the chill of the air is welcome then, cooling the heat he feels rising within him, misplaced anger and a growing frustration, his skin feeling too tight for all it must contain. He stares between his fingers at the empty road before him, listens at the muffled sounds from the bar, laughter and music and the clink of glasses. There’s footsteps, too, approaching quietly, the warmth of a body that falls into a crouch next to him.

“You okay?” Yoongi’s voice sounds next to his ear and Kihyun cranes his neck to look at him, a bitter smile on his lips.

“I was until you opened your mouth,” he says, wincing as soon as the words fall from his lips. Yoongi looks down at the pavement but he doesn’t move, something sad in the turn of his mouth, the droop of his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Kihyun answers, “not this time.”

He feels oddly calm, looking back at the road, waiting for Yoongi to speak. The man remains silent yet it’s almost nice; Kihyun’s side rich with his warmth, his fingers tingling – Kihyun could touch him if he wished to, Yoongi’s so close, the side of his face illuminated by the yellow streetlights, the soft glow of the moon shining off his hair. And it’s still there, that familiar pull in Kihyun’s stomach, the one that had him stare incessantly from his place at the back, that had him sit by the open window of his empty classroom with his arms on the sill and his cheek on his arm. And so he remains there, still and silent, waiting for what must happen. Here in this strange place, this liminal time between dog and wolf, it feels like small bits of a precious thing could be salvaged, if only he could find the right words, the right gestures.

“Back then,” Yoongi starts, his voice quiet, and Kihyun listens. “Back then I was scared all the time. Of who I was becoming, of the passing of time that brought me closer to whatever laid ahead when I didn’t even know what I really liked, who I really wanted to be. And you were here, and you already looked like you had it all figured out.”

“I really did not,” Kihyun mumbles, keeping his eyes on the road. Yoongi laughs, something short-lived and self-depreciating.

“Yeah, I guess not. But… You seemed so strong. Despite all that was happening you came everyday, and you endured alone. I would watch you and I thought…” Yoongi interrupts himself, suddenly embarrassed, and there’s this laugh again, Kihyun finally looking to him. Yoongi’s staring ahead, a faint blush on his cheeks and he steels himself before continuing, keeping his gaze on the road.

“I guess I was a bit scared of you, too. You seemed so much deeper, so much smarter than any of us. Like we weren’t on the same level at all. And I wasn’t kidding, you know. You were beautiful.”

Kihyun tries to get air into his lungs, gaze falling from Yoongi to the pavement in front of him. It doesn’t feel real, the true meaning of Yoongi’s words floating somewhere above his grasp. He should know, though, he should know what they mean; the words are familiar, their shape the one of his own feelings for Yoongi.

“I thought the same about you,” he says eventually, quietly, removed from his own body and he feels more than he sees Yoongi’s stare falling to him. “I was watching, too. Watching you.”

There’s a small silence, Yoongi looking up at the sky, closing his eyes when a deep sigh escapes him.

“This is a real ass mess, uh,” he says eloquently and Kihyun snorts, rubbing his hands together to try and bring some warmth back.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I really regret it, though,” Yoongi says thoughtfully, his gaze faraway, as if he was looking back at themselves through all the years that had elapsed since. “Doing nothing. It feels like I missed something important.”

“What would you have missed?” Kihyun asks without thinking, following Yoongi’s line of sight up to the skies.

“You,” Yoongi says simply, and Kihyun closes his eyes. “A chance at being a decent.”

“Maybe we would have hated each other, if we had ever talked,” Kihyun says lightly, and Yoongi laughs.

“Well, you hate me now, so couldn’t have been worse.”

“I don’t hate you,” Kihyun says softly, opening his eyes to glance at Yoongi and the man’s staring back at him, dark eyes made darker by the night. “I’m just… I told you. I don’t know what your deal is.”

Yoongi shrugs, gaze drifting from Kihyun’s face to his hands.

“I don’t think I know either. I just. I want to know you.”

“Why?”

Yoongi opens his mouth but Kihyun lifts his hand before he can say anything, effectively shutting him up.

“If you say it’s because I’m pretty I’ll deck you one,” Kihyun drawls and Yoongi clamps his mouth shut, Kihyun rolling his eyes just as the sound of the bell hanging on the bar’s door makes itself heard. Kihyun lifts his head, spotting Hoseok and Hyunwoo stumbling outside. They haven’t seen him, not yet, too busy staring at each other and Kihyun doesn’t think; he grabs Yoongi by the arm, tugging him after himself as he waddles down the road, still crouched, to hide in the alley down the side of the building.

“What are we doing?” Yoongi asks too loudly and Kihyun clamps his hand over his mouth, hissing for him to quiet down.

“Okay,” Yoongi mumbles from behind his palm and Kihyun can feel his breath, warm against his skin. “This isn’t weird. Your hand is very cold.”

“I just– Hyunwoo and Hoseok came outside,” Kihyun whispers as if that should explain everything. Yoongi’s expression tells him plainly that it doesn’t.

“I don’t want to interrupt them,” he adds, letting his hand drop from Yoongi’s face. “Sorry about my hand.”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi whispers back and they’re standing way too near each other, Kihyun realizes then; he could count Yoongi’s eyelashes should he want to, and he takes a flustered step back just as Yoongi seems to come to the same realization, jerking away much too quickly. He whacks his head against the wall behind him, muffling a yelp in his fist.

“You okay?” Kihyun asks, trying to swallow back the laugh that threatens to bubble out of him. This is much too weird, he thinks in passing, standing there in a dark alley with Yoongi of all people, watching him hold his head, trying to put on a brave face.

“I’m fine. It’s not like I already brained myself like yesterday.”

Kihyun bites his lips, Yoongi sending him a glare, and he’s about to retort when familiar voices float down to them and Kihyun gestures widely for Yoongi to shut up, earning himself an eye-roll as Yoongi crouches against the wall.

“Are we spying on them now?” he whispers as Kihyun squats next to him.

“No,” Kihyun answers, “we’re giving them their privacy.”

“This sounds exactly like what we’re not doing,” Yoongi remarks evenly. Kihyun slaps him on the knee, and Yoongi does something strange, then. He catches Kihyun’s hand, trapping it in his own.

“What are you doing?” Kihyun whispers with wide eyes and Yoongi’s blushing, looking down at their clasped hands rather than Kihyun’s face.

“You’re freezing. If we’re stuck here spying on your friends, might as well not lose any fingers.”

Kihyun stares at his hand in Yoongi’s warm one, his callused, rough hand, Yoongi’s skin smooth and pale against his own. He’s embarrassed, suddenly, yet a giddiness is rising too and maybe it’s the alcohol he drank, maybe it’s the glow of the moon or the dark of night but he feels bold; and maybe this is fine, maybe this is okay, a small smile creeping to his lips as he glances up at Yoongi and he really isn’t how he’d imagined him, all those years ago. Distant and unreachable and so sure of himself yet he’s there crouching in a back alley, blushing with Kihyun’s hand in his own and it’s so human, so awkward, Kihyun feels like laughing.

“That’s a rather lame excuse just to touch me,” he whispers instead, Yoongi’s blush intensifying as he glares at him.

“Weren’t we supposed to shut up?” he says icily, Kihyun rolling his eyes as he settles more comfortably against the wall, leaning further into Yoongi’s space just to be difficult. It’s then that he realizes Hyunwoo and Hoseok have moved further down the road, closer to their hiding place and their voices are clearer now. He really shouldn’t eavesdrop, and Kihyun feels a pang of guilt, but just imagining their faces were he to suddenly appear from a dark alley with Yoongi in tow has him firmly stay in place.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Hoseok is saying and Kihyun’s guilt turns to worry at the tone he employs, his voice quiet and subdued, almost sad. “But it’s just, this is not– you’re not here to stay,” Hoseok finishes lamely and Kihyun’s heart aches for him, but for himself, too. Whatever is happening right now, Yoongi sitting next to him, holding his hand, watching him as if he’d missed him, it will pass, Yoongi will leave, go back to his own life where Kihyun never had a place other than that of a bitter memory. And it’s strange; he knows then that were he to let himself, he would want more, and he must stop, really, he must stop now, he’s not ready for this kind of hurt.

“What if I stayed?” Hyunwoo says because of course he would, and Kihyun lets his head rest against the wall behind him, looking up at the night sky.

“And what would you do here?” Hoseok is asking, growing agitated, “become the only farmer with a ph.d? I don’t want you to resent me when you realize you’ve been wasting your time and this life isn’t for you.”

There’s a silence, heavier than any words could be. Yoongi’s hand has tightened around Kihyun’s and he’s staring at the ground ahead of him, gaze lost.

“But I love you,” they hear Hyunwoo say, quietly, so vulnerable it tears a hole in Kihyun’s side and he curls up on himself. This was a mistake, really, and next to him Yoongi has grown still and silent as death, even his breathing subdued.

“Sometimes it’s not enough,” comes Hoseok’s answer and Kihyun knows how he must look now, the sad downturn of his mouth, the hurt in his eyes.

“Please,” Hyunwoo says, “Hoseok, if you tell me you feel nothing for me I will drop it. I won’t bother you anymore. But if there’s something, wouldn’t it be worth it to try anyway?”

“I’m not ready for it to go wrong,” Hoseok answers plainly, “I’d rather not have you at all than try and lose you. Cause then I’d know what I lost. I’d know what it could have been like. I don’t want that kind of knowledge, that kind of hurt.”

There’s a searing breath caught in Kihyun’s lungs, something too close to tears and Yoongi’s tugging on his hand then, dragging him towards the other end of the alley, tripping over empty crates. They remain silent, Kihyun lost in thoughts, letting himself be steered as Yoongi navigates them; they have to circumvent the whole building to rejoin the main road and it takes longer than it really should. Kihyun’s lagging, staring at his hand in Yoongi’s own and Hoseok’s words echo in his mind – _you’re not here to stay_ , _I’m not ready for it to go wrong_. And he’s right, Kihyun finds, there is no use to any of this; Yoongi will let go of his hand and he’ll be left with his lingering warmth, with the memories of his fleeting touches, nothing more.

Kihyun watches Yoongi’s back in front of him, the hair of his nape and the slight slope of his shoulders. And he tries to find a goodbye there, a closure to lay to rest those feelings he had never wished to revive, to finally let go of this young boy within him, the one seated at a window, his arms on the sill and his cheek on his arm, staring at a boy he thought would never look back. It could be fine, Kihyun thinks, it must be fine, just a bittersweet memory of something missed, something wasted. He tightens his hold on Yoongi’s hand, who looks to him with a wistful smile before shifting his gaze back to the road. Kihyun ignores the bitter taste in his mouth, the sting behind his eyes. It’s okay, he tells himself, with time he will forget, with time Yoongi will slip from his mind, nothing but a faint scar left behind.

  
  


  
  



End file.
